


i wanna be your lover, baby, i wanna be your man

by tomorrows



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Navy, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Facials, Fleet Week AU, Fluff, M/M, Smut, hashtag AMERICA, this is entirely fluff for the most part i'm not going to lie to y'all, zero percent angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:17:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrows/pseuds/tomorrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry’s voice is quiet, if not a little hesitant, when he murmurs gently, “What does that make me, then?”</em>
</p><p> <em>Louis searches his brain for the right words, eyes glued to the tentative curiosity etched all over Harry’s face.</em></p><p> <em>“It makes you worth keeping,” he decides.</em><br/> </p><p>A Fleet Week AU where Louis and Harry are in the US Navy and fate gives them a week together. Fireworks, a house by the lake, and lots of kissing follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna be your lover, baby, i wanna be your man

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!! this is a dumb fic i've been working on for two months now. it was supposed to be 5-8k of fluff and kisses, but don't ask me how it turned into THIS MONSTER. 
> 
> if you're not familiar with [fleet week](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleet_Week), it's basically america drunk on patriotism and hot servicemen taking over major cities. please, PLEASE keep in mind that i know literally fuck all about the navy. my actual knowledge of fleet week/american servicemen/the us navy does not go beyond "sometimes they are in water???" so take everything with a pinch of salt or an entire spoonful. 
> 
> thank you to leni, emily, and barbra for making sense of this mess when there was none. y'all the realest homies xoxo 
> 
> (title's from bob dylan's "i wanna be your lover")
> 
> [tumblr](http://tornorrows.tumblr.com)

Manhattan is hot. Like, ridiculously, unacceptably hot, and Louis feels like he’s drenched in sweat. It’s not a good look on him, mostly because he’s covered from head to toe in white and his uniform feels disgustingly thick against his damp skin. And to top it off, he has his stupid fucking cap on, hair matted against his forehead because of the heat.

Sailors are attractive, yes, but when they come in thousands – all of them dressed almost exactly the same – to an already overcrowded city, there’s nothing good about them. And there's definitely nothing about Louis’ sweaty balls and stupid cap that help him stand out in any positive way. He’s just another sweltering, never-quite-drunk-enough sailor in a mass of white.

The way Louis sees it, Manhattan is like a fish tank during Fleet Week; a fish tank filled with the most beautiful fish of the sea. Drunk, happy, sexually frustrated and embarrassingly patriotic fish that are treated like royalty for seven days straight. And then there’s Louis, the last one off the ship and the metaphorical _shrimp_ at the bottom of the metaphorical fish tank of the metaphorical sea.

“I hate being on land,” he hisses as he steps onto the pier.

Niall’s waiting for him a few feet behind the rest of their group, but Louis doesn't feel like speeding up and doing his closest friend any favors.

“I hate land and I hate summer and I hate this stupid fucking city.”

Niall laughs wildly when Louis reaches him at his snail pace and throws an arm around him. “Quit your bitching, Tommo. We’ve been in the greatest city in the world for five minutes and you’ve already got me plotting your death. That’s a new record for you, man.”

“Yes, well, New York always brings out the best in me,” Louis huffs sarcastically, shrugging Niall’s arm off him. It’s already boiling hot, he could do without Niall’s insistent body heat and life-threatening affection.

But Niall's not having any of his shit today.

“You need to get fucked well and proper before we leave, Louis. I refuse to let you back on the ship with that giant goddamn stick up your sorry ass. You should take advantage of this week for once in your life."

Louis turns around and glances one last time at their beautiful ship, the USS Happily. It’s been home for far too many years now, with her hazy blue hue and long length, and a week without her isn’t impossible, but trading the sea and the open skies for overcrowded Manhattan is. Sometimes Louis thinks that he was probably a fish or a mermaid or even a bird in his past life, the way he feels when he’s in the water. Definitely not a shrimp, though. He may be the metaphorical shrimp, but he was definitely at least a goddamn mermaid in a previous life. Sharks are pretty cool. Maybe he was a—

“Are you even listening to me?”

Louis twists his head back to Niall, quickly noticing from the corner of his eye the rest of their group beginning to load onto their bus towards the hotel.

“You always tune me out when you look at that ship, man, what the fuck—”

“If I listened to every word you said I would have jumped ship long ago, Ni, Jesus." He grabs Niall’s wrist, quickly shutting him up. “Now come on, the faster we get to the hotel the faster this week is over.”

Louis knows from experience that that is most definitely not true, but it helps to lie to himself a bit, he's learned.

“Maybe they’ll have a pool, yeah?”

And even he can hear the way his voice raises in excitement when he speaks.

“If you spend all our free time in a pool I swear to God I'm going to—”

“No time for empty threats, Horan!” Louis shouts as he begins to run, dragging Niall behind him. “We’ve gotta get ourselves well and proper fucked!”

∞

Getting well and proper fucked is a lot easier said than done, Louis realizes soon enough.

The first thing he’d done when they’d gotten to their hotel was go for a swim, only getting out when Niall had appeared by the edge with a towel and his uniform.

“We’re going out for drinks,” he’d shouted from across the room, already dolled up and pink cheeked. Even with his blurry vision and hair stuck to his eyes, Louis could tell that Niall had cleared out their mini-fridge of all its alcoholic contents.

“Gimme ten more minutes!” he’d cried out desperately.

“Fuck no! Get the fuck out of the water right now or I will drag your skinny ass out of there, Tomlinson.”

Another empty threat. Niall isn’t above jumping into the water fully clothed, but there’s no way he’d dirty up his uniform and be forced to go out during Fleet Week dressed as a _normal_ civilian. Louis had acquiesced anyway, though, floating towards the ledge and getting out. At a painfully slow rate, Niall had pointed out, but he’d gotten out nonetheless.

And now he finds himself alone in bar somewhere in Manhattan, a city filled with drunk, testosterone-ridden sailors who haven’t gotten laid in months. It’s almost disgusting, the scent of sweat and thick cologne mingling in the air with cheap booze and heavy liquor. He gets pushed left and right, having lost Niall somewhere by the door long ago, until he finds himself by the bar, fighting his way to the single available stool in the entire place.

If this were a few years ago Louis would have been pumped as hell to be where he is. Hell, _a few hours ago_ he would have been pumped to be in a crowded bar buzzing with excitement and the thrill that comes with summer time and Fleet Week.

But right now Louis is just sleepy and tired and decidedly not pumped as hell. His bones ache from too many days at sea and ironically enough, he knows from experience that the only way to get rid of his ache is to settle into the water once more, submerge and anchor himself as deep as he can. If he forgets to breathe sometimes, that’s okay, too. He'll always come up for air; at least it reminds him that he’s alive.

Louis’ just about to order a drink when someone bumps into his side for the ninetieth time that night and nearly knocks him out of his seat. He fumbles for a second but quickly loses his grip, flailing downwards until an arm quickly wraps itself around him and hauls him back up in one swift move. It’s so crowded with people bustling all around them that the person can’t let go and move away after helping Louis up. Instead, the grip around Louis’ waist tightens and the person steps even closer.

“Shit, my bad,” a voice apologizes into his hair, looming above him. “This is really awkward, I’m sorry – gimme a minute—”

He’s pressed into Louis’ side and Louis can’t see much of the man. His initial reaction is to smack the hand off him – how dare a complete stranger hold him as if Louis belongs to him – but his eyes catch a white uniform and long fingers splayed across his ribs. Something in his belly tickles. He should probably speak up sometime soon.

He waits for the crowd of bustling men behind them to shuffle away before finally looking up and — all his words die in his throat. He was going to spurt some bullshit line, dip his feet into the water to see what exactly this guy is into or maybe tell him to kindly fuck off and be more careful next time, but he gives out completely when his eyes land on the person glued to his side.

The guy – boy? man? beautiful creature sent from God specifically to destroy Louis Tomlinson? – has a wild halo of curly hair stuffed underneath his white cap, green eyes sparkling and bright in this too-crowded bar in Manhattan. He’s got craters for dimples and Louis doesn’t even register his body’s movements before he’s poking a finger into the dimple, forcing it even deeper. He stares wide eyed, in awe.

Shit. He is well and proper fucked.

“Hi,” the person says, breaking out into an even wider grin as he stares right back at Louis in amusement. His voice is low and happy, a little bubbly, and entirely not what Louis is used to from a man in a uniform.

A man in a uniform. _Shit_.

“Oops?” Louis breathes out. He hasn’t wrapped his mind around anything yet, but he feels breathless and there’s a _beautiful_ , unnaturally gorgeous boy in front of him – _holding him_. What the fuck is going on.

There’s more space behind them now but the boy doesn’t move his arm away from where it’s slipped to the curve of Louis' waist, doesn’t even think about putting any distance between them. Louis feels like he can’t move, finger pressed into the dimple of a stranger he can’t tear his eyes away from.

“Hi,” the stranger says again. The smile is still on his face, still in his voice.

“I should probably stop touching you,” Louis finally says when he remembers how to speak again. “Right.”

“No one said you had to.”

Louis’ hand falls to his lap.

“Really now?”

He hasn’t had the chance to chat someone up in months, but that doesn’t mean he can’t or that he doesn’t know the telltale signs of flirtation. Fuck it if he lets himself miss out on an opportunity _this_ wondrous.

He drags his eyes down to his waist, where the stranger’s large palm still sits. He wonders if the guy follows his gaze down, but he’s been staring giddily at Louis’ face this entire time so Louis highly doubts it.

“I guess we’re quite good as we are, don’t you think?”

The stranger tilts his head to the side and with a knowing chuckle agrees. “One hundred percent, yeah.”

∞

A few hours later Louis learns two things about his sailor stranger with the big hands, besides the fact that his name is Harry Styles and that he’s a pilot in the Navy. The first is that Long Island Iced Teas make him chatty and the second is that Long Island Iced Teas make him cuddly, especially with people he’s only just met. Maybe the rules just apply when Louis’ involved, but he’ll generalize for the sake of his sanity.

Harry drapes himself over Louis, who’s still sitting at the bar, and stays attached to Louis’ side the entire night. He sips his drinks with his pinky raised and asks for extra umbrellas that he grabs with excitement and hands over to Louis expectantly, wide eyed and giggly. He’s already got three lined up perfectly behind his left ear, cap long forgotten and tossed aside on Louis’ lap.

“No, no,” Louis hisses at one point, sitting up quickly. “Ask for a purple one! It’ll make your eyes stand out.”

Harry turns his head to glance back at Louis – the bartender behind him is far from pleased; this is the fourth time he’s had to deal with their sickeningly childish behavior – and sucks his bottom lip in, like he’s trying not to break his face with his grin (again). “Do my eyes need standing out?” he asks coquettishly.

They don’t. They’re so bright and beautiful and grassy fucking green that Louis’ chest aches every time he catches Harry’s eye, but he’ll be damned if he hands that compliment over so easily. Harold’s gotta work for that kind of affection.

“They could do with a bit of work,” Louis says with a smirk.

Harry harrumphs petulantly, but grabs the purple umbrella from the man’s hand and turns back around to Louis. There are sailors on the seats beside them so Harry presses in close, like it’s only okay to invade someone’s space if that person is Louis Tomlinson, a stranger he’s only known for a handful of hours now.

“You know,” Louis says as he runs a hand through Harry’s hair, ruffling it into some semblance of order, “I was just kidding about your eyes needing work.”

He doesn’t need to be honest. It’s not like Harry hadn’t caught on to his joke, but as Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s curls, he realizes that he likes it so much more when Harry preens under his honest praise. He doesn’t need to be painfully honest, but he wants to with Harry.

“They don’t need _any_ work, I don’t think. You’re quite charming as it is, Styles. Do you know that?”

Harry nuzzles into Louis’ palm and shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “S’been mentioned once or twice.”

“Does acting like an actual kitten usually work for you too?”

Harry doesn’t need to open his eyes for Louis to know he’s rolling them. On far too many occasions tonight Louis’ noticed Harry’s little quirks and taken notes on them, not even realizing he’d been doing so until his thoughts are clouded with lists of cute things Harry does with his lips and he’s completely missing what Harry’s saying to him. He’s distracted (a tiny bit, maybe a lot), but Harry’s also very dramatic with his eye rolls, so Louis’ doesn’t think he can _really_ be expected to focus.

“I don’t know. No one ever plays with my hair anymore. Except for Liam, but that’s only when he agrees to a cuddle. Is it working?”

Louis finds that impossibly hard to believe. He also doesn’t like the idea of Harry cuddling with this Liam person. He pulls his hand out of Harry’s hair, knowing that it’ll make Harry open his eyes immediately and pout. And it does, obviously.

“ _Heeey_ , why’d you stop?” Harry pouts.

Louis rolls his eyes and deadpans, “Have you been chatting me up for the last three hours just so I’d pet your hair?”

“Do you not like petting my hair?” Harry frowns, genuinely this time. “You don’t have to – I didn’t mean for—”

He looks so distraught and apologetic that Louis wants to kiss him just to get him to shut up, even if he isn’t sure where Harry stands with any of this. Maybe Harry is just a genuinely affectionate and open person, and he’s caught on to Louis with ease. Maybe the way his fingers lightly trace small circles into Louis’ back is just something he does with all of his new friends. Either way, Louis feels guilty immediately.

“Of course I like petting your hair,” he interrupts Harry’s panic.

To prove his point he gently brushes Harry’s hair from his face and sticks the purple umbrella behind his right ear carefully. He keeps his eyes on Harry’s curls, playing with the umbrella until it’s situated perfectly to Louis’ liking. He pulls lightly at a springy bit of Harry’s curls and says quietly, “Just wanted to know if that’s all you had planned for us tonight.”

It takes a minute for Harry to catch on to what Louis’ implying and in that small frame of time Louis feels like he’s just taken a leap into a waterfall with his eyes closed and no safety precautions. An ice cold waterfall, 400 million feet high.

Fuck, that’s a horrible metaphor, but he’s had too many sips of Harry’s Iced Teas and he really _really_ would like to continue playing with Harry’s hair almost as much as he’d like to kiss him.

“Do you like fireworks?”

Louis furrows his eyebrows and meets Harry’s wide eyes. Well. He wasn’t expecting that response.

 “Of course I love fireworks. What do fireworks have to—”

“Shhh!” Harry quickly puts his cap back on his head and grabs Louis by the hand, pulling him out of his seat. “No time for talking, Lou!”

Louis is confused and sweaty and not nearly drunk enough to be dragged through the swarm of bodies and onto the streets of New York, but oddly enough, he trusts Harry. Harry with his too-big palms and excitable aura and dimpled smile; Harry and the way he turns his head with bright teeth and glassy eyes to make sure Louis’ there, as if their laced fingers aren’t enough of a confirmation.

Harry leads them out of the bar and somewhere new and Louis decides, for the first time in his life, that he trusts someone enough to guide him.

∞

“Are you sure your friend is okay with this?”

Harry doesn’t tear his eyes away from the sky. “Who _caaares_ ,” he shrugs, dragging his words out. “Watch the fireworks with me Lou, _pleeease._ ” He tightens his arms around Louis’ waist and squeezes in close, where his chest is pressed against Louis’ back. Harry drops his chin on Louis’ shoulder and pouts. “You said you liked fireworks. Why aren’t you watching the fireworks?”

Louis can barely hear him over the sound of the music and laughter, the explosions in the sky and the blood rushing to his head. They’re on the roof of someone’s building – a friend of Harry’s from high school that Louis _still_ hasn’t seen – for a party he wasn’t invited to. Louis has no clue how they made it here in time for the annual Fleet Week fireworks show, but he’s only just caught his breath and it’s not helping much that Harry’s pressed up against him, laughing into his ear and pouting against his neck. He’s tempted to reach behind him and ruffle Harry’s hair, giggle right back, but he’s still trying to figure out how to breathe around him.

“I do like fireworks,” Louis eventually answers. “I love fireworks.”

“Then stop worrying about Zayn or I’m gonna spend the entire night worrying that you’re not having any fun and then we’ll _both_ be miserable.”

Louis almost breaks his neck turning to face Harry. They’re pressed too close together for strangers who’ve only just met; Harry’s curls brushing against Louis’ cheek, long arms wrapped around his middle entirely, like he’s afraid Louis’ going to fall over the edge of the roof or go for a piss without him. Either way, Louis blames Harry’s affection and honesty on the alcohol buzzing in his veins. He hopes, pathetically, that it’s a good enough excuse for himself as well.

“You’re worried about me not having fun?”

Harry makes a pained noise in the back of his throat and finally tears his eyes away from the explosions in the sky for the first time all night, only to bury his face into Louis’ neck in drunken embarrassment.

“I just want you to enjoy yourself. _God_ , this is so lame. I can’t believe I—”

“Shut up, Harry,” Louis quickly bites. He pinches Harry’s arm and moves a free hand into the curls at the nape of his neck. He runs his thumb across Harry’s neck and scratches lightly at his scalp, ignoring the awkward twist of his arm. “I’m having a great time, H, I promise.”

He is, and that almost scares him. Almost.

He can feel Harry shrink against him, taking another step closer and tightening his grip around his waist. The fireworks are too loud for Louis to catch the noise that Harry makes, but he thinks it sounds something like a purring kitten.

Louis nudges his nose against Harry’s temple. “Come on, babe, pick your head up. Gotta watch the fireworks with me before they’re done, yeah?” And Louis decides, _fuck it_ , pressing a kiss to the shell of Harry’s ear. “ _Pleeease?_ ”

He thinks maybe Harry’s refusing to look up just to get him to touch him and kiss him some more, but eventually the pouting giant lifts his head up and reveals a wide, blinding smile. He looks like a little kid on Christmas morning and Louis wants to kiss him so much. Instead he settles for dropping his hands on top of Harry’s where they rest against his belly, and pats them with a sigh.

Green bores into blue as pinks and reds and yellows erupt in the sky, the sound of it all drowning the words in Louis’ throat.

“Stay with me tonight,” Harry whispers, warm words fanning across Louis’ mouth.

They’re only centimeters apart. Louis could kiss him easily. They should have kissed a long time ago, he thinks, about ten Long Island Iced Teas and six hours ago, around the time that Harry first bumped into him. He already regrets going this far without the taste of Harry’s mouth on his.

A firework explodes across the sky and Louis can see from the corner of his eye, just barely, that it’s in the shape of an anchor.

“Of course,” he whispers back.

∞

When Louis wakes up the next morning he’s in a stranger’s hotel room, being stared down by unfamiliar stranger on the bed across from him.

“He’s awake, Haz,” Stranger points out blankly.

“Mmm, I know.”

It takes Louis a minute to gather his senses when he recognizes the second voice immediately. He flips over in the bed – apparently in someone else’s much larger clothes – and finds Harry, the fireworks boy from the bar, sat up against the headboard reading the newspaper. According to the New York Times it’s the 22nd of May, day two of Fleet Week, and the President is pushing for more sanctions on Russia.

“Harry?” Louis mumbles groggily, staring up at Fireworks Harry in confusion. “What time is it?”

“Half past ten,” the stranger from the other bed informs him.

Louis drops his head on the pillow. Jesus, it’s fucking soft. A shiver runs through Louis’ spine when he inhales the subtle scent of red apple on the sheets, faintly recalling a head of brown curls that smelled just the same. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Well,” Harry starts with a sigh. “India’s holding the largest elections in the world, Putin thinks Ukrainians are in over their heads, and there’s trouble in paradise for Beyoncé and Jay Z. How do you like your eggs in the morning, Lou?”

Louis doesn’t catch himself before he’s mumbling along on instinct, “I like mine with a kiss.”

And all of a sudden the room is quiet again. There’s the soft thud of Harry dropping the newspaper on his lap and Louis worries Stranger on the other bed has forgotten to how breathe.

 _Shit_. He buries his face into the pillow even deeper.

Fucking red apples. Fucking Dean Martin.

Louis’ mortification is paused momentarily when Harry breaks out into a quiet giggle, clapping his hands in delight.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got sunny side up,” he laughs, quickly ducking down to press a kiss to the back of Louis’ head. “Get up, sunshine, or it’ll get cold and gross.”

Louis feels himself go red in the face. It doesn’t help that he can barely breathe with his face stuffed into the pillow, but now he can feel Harry hovering above him, slowly rubbing his large palm up and down his back. It’s all too much for ten in the morning.

“ _Looouuu_.”

There’s a shuffle of noise and then, “Fuck me, I can’t watch this anymore. I’m going to go check out the gym downstairs. Call me when you two are being less vomit-inducing.”

Louis waits for the sound of the door being shut before picking his head up, practically out of breath. “Who was that?”

Harry sits up again and brushes Louis’ hair away from his eyes, his voice almost as soft as the glow in his eyes and the touch of his warm fingertips. “That’s Liam,” he explains, “he’s on the ship with me.”

“Why’s he got his panties in a twist?”

Harry’s goes pink cheeked. “He’s sorta going through a rough patch with his girlfriend. And I… Sorta forgot about him at the bar last night, maybe. Got distracted by, um. Things.”

“Distracted, huh?” Louis raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t judge,” Harry blushes even further. “You’re not even in your own bed right now.”

Louis sits up, throwing the covers off him. The shirt he’s wearing is ten sizes too big on him, a bright orange piece that’s faded and still smells of someone else’s cologne. He feels like he’s drowning in it, but it’s strangely comforting. There’s too much space between him and Harry – barely four inches, but it feels like an entire ocean. (And as fond as Louis is of the ocean, right now he’s spiteful.) Harry, who’s got his arms crossed against his chest, has his lower half underneath the sheets like Louis. On the other side of the bed, to Harry’s left, there’s a tray of steaming food and Louis’ stomach grumbles perfectly on cue when he catches sight of it.

“Quit pouting, Styles, and give me the food,” he groans dramatically.

He tries to lean over Harry’s body and grab the tray, flailing miserably for a few moments before Harry starts to laugh. He watches Louis suffer a little longer, grunting and stretched out uncomfortably, before grabbing him by the hips and forcing him back to an upright position beside him.

“Easy there, Tomlinson. Patience is a virtue.”

Harry forces Louis to sit still as he places the tray on his lap. Louis stares at his bacon and eggs, the milk and steaming hot tea, cut up orange slices and buttered toast, and swears for a minute that he’s falling in love.

“You got me breakfast in bed.”

“I got you breakfast in bed.”

Louis fills his mouth with toast, trying to eat away the butterflies in his belly. “You sure you don’t want to feed me as well?”

“Would you like me to?”

When Louis glances at him, Harry’s got his hands folded on his lap, earnestly waiting for an answer. Christ, the Academy disciplined him proper.

As much as he doesn’t want to, Louis turns down Harry’s offer. “S’okay, I’ve got the whole eating on my own thing perfected by now. Could you pass me your phone for a minute, though?”

Harry searches for it underneath the sheets and hands it over without a second thought. “Don’t tell me you lost your phone, Lou.”

Louis swallows past the lump in his throat and pretends like he’s more used to Harry’s soft, continuous use of _Lou_ than he really is. “Would need a phone in the first place to lose one,” he mumbles with his mouth full.

“You don’t have a phone?”

Louis catches Harry staring at him curiously. He shrugs nonchalantly. “Never really needed one. We’re at sea most of the time and it’s not like you get a lot of opportunities to Instagram sunsets and play Angry Birds when you’re trying to maintain a sixty year old ship.” He swallows down a bite of bacon. “Plus cell service is kind of shit in the middle of the Pacific, but that’s whatever.”

“All fair points,” Harry concedes, “but you can never have too many over-filtered photos of the sunset on the internet, can you? Isn’t that what social media runs on anyways? Photos of nature with obscure captions?”

Louis barks out a loud laugh, nearly choking on his breakfast. “Quotes from Bukowski and completely unsubtle references to penises, right?”

“Well now I’m starting to think you’ve been lying this whole time,” Harry huffs in faux horror. “You’re probably just another one of my many avid fans on Instagram, aren’t you?”

 _God,_ this boy is an idiot, but he brings the brightest smile to Louis’ face. His cheeks ache from smiling and his belly aches from laughing and Harry sits beside him with the proudest grin on his face, like it means the world to him that he’s made Louis happy with his senseless jokes and simple humor.

“Do you need me to give you a minute or—?” Harry motions to his phone, long forgotten in Louis’ hand.

“No, no,” Louis answers too quickly. He places a hand on Harry’s thigh, keeping him from moving. “I just need to call my friend and make sure he doesn’t think I’m dead. I sort of forgot him at the bar last night.”

Harry blinks back at him in awe, completely dumbfounded. Louis worries for a second that he’s not breathing anymore. He and Liam apparently have that tendency in common.

“Guess I got distracted,” he shrugs.

There’s a moment of silence between them, their eyes locked on one another, waiting for the other break the ice. A short moment of them both holding their breaths, and then Harry is setting Louis’ tea aside and leaping forward, grabbing Louis’ face in his hands and sliding their mouths together in a rush. It’s hard to think about Niall and his tea when Harry’s lips are soft and wet and pressed against Louis’ own, kissing him like it’s been hell on earth waiting sixteen hours just to do so.

The realization sinks in quick enough and then Louis is pulling Harry in by the back of his neck and kissing him in return. It’s eager and exciting, every part of their bodies in shock but their mouths, and Louis wants to scream off rooftops because he’s never been woken up to breakfast in bed by a guy who kisses him in earnest and cuddles with him in bars and watches fireworks with him at midnight.

“So lucky to have you,” Louis breathes when they part, mouth moving too fast for his brain to filter him out.

He thinks he's gone and fucked it all up but Harry just nuzzles closer to him, rubbing his thumbs across his cheekbones and pressing quick kisses to his mouth.

“And you," he agrees between kisses. “So glad to have you.”

∞

That day Louis learns another thing about Harry, one that doesn’t involve Long Island Iced Teas – Harry smiles when he kisses. All the time. With every peck and nuzzle and spontaneous pounce in the middle of the street, Harry’s grin grows wider and wider, to the point where he once even complains about his cheeks aching. Sometimes Louis ends up laughing, too, forced to pull away so he can catch his breath and stop giggling as well.

They spend the morning in bed making out like fifteen year olds with no intention of going further. Making out solely for the purpose of making out. Louis’ not used to that, being kissed _just_ to be kissed, but he loves it. He loves the light feeling of Harry’s mouth on his own, the way their bodies slot right together underneath the sheets and make the hairs on the back of his arms rise in excitement.

They sneak kisses in the elevator when Liam barges back in the room and kicks them out, and again in the lobby, and then by the pool, too, when Louis sits by on the edge with his feet in the water. Harry strips down and barely completes a single lap before he’s sliding in between Louis’ legs and pulling him in for open-mouthed kisses. He giggles straight through every one of them. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s wet torso and grips onto the ledge to keep from falling into the water, wondering in the back of his mind when it got so easy to kiss an almost-stranger.

Somewhere in between kissing Harry senseless and massaging Harry’s aching cheeks – a pointless task; it just makes Harry laugh even more, the ache never really leaving – he calls Niall and gets a strict, fatherly telling-off. It ends with Niall demanding to meet the man who’s stolen Louis from him. It’s very Lifetime-original-movie-esque if you ask Louis, but that’s how he finds himself at Yankee Stadium later that night, Niall to his right and Harry to his left, the entire stadium packed to full capacity with members of the service. Liam is on Harry’s other side, but Louis can barely get a word in between Harry and Niall’s mindless chatter so leaning over to small talk with him is completely out of the question. He also still feels quite bad about all the PDA he’s scarred Liam with in the last ten hours, so maybe it’s best he stay quiet for now.

“And did you notice the way he _always_ double-dips—”

“Yeah! He did that at lunch with my fries the entire time!”

“Ridiculous!” Niall shouts in outrage. “And you let him get away with that?”

Harry blushes, “He looked too cute to stop.”

Niall shakes his head in disappointment. “Jesus, Styles. You’re never gonna last with this one if you can’t tell him to fuck off every once in a while. _Especially_ when good food and double-dipping is involved. The guy is a fucking menace.”

Louis’ face turns red. The two of them have been talking about him from the second they sat down in their seats and said hello. Louis didn’t think they’d get on _this_ well, but they’ve already posted selfies together on Instagram and followed each other on Twitter. They’ve long since exchanged numbers and accepted their friend requests on Facebook. It almost makes Louis wonder if Harry just naturally clicks with everyone, if he himself isn’t just a one time thing. Though, to be fair, it’s not very hard to click with Niall, either, so Louis feels rather stupid for not expecting all of this instant bonding.

Harry’s got one arm around the back of Louis’ seat and the other on his thigh. A shiver runs through Louis’ body when Harry laughs at Niall’s outrage and he can feel it because he’s pressed so close to him, only wants to press further.

Harry squeezes Louis’ thigh and shrugs. “Nah, it’s all good. See the thing is, I don’t mind sharing my food, you know?”

“Sharing is caring,” Louis mumbles under his breath.

“Exactly,” Harry agrees. “Sharing _is_ caring.”

“I genuinely wish you two would do some of that sharing in private or something,” Liam groans from beside Harry. He’s had a very long day, Louis thinks. “You’re kind of disgusting, no offense. I could have had my lunch without your extremely detailed side commentary on what Louis kisses like, Haz.”

“But he’s so good!” Harry chirps enthusiastically. Literally _chirps_ , all high voice and bubbly excitement, clapping his hands and everything.

Someone strikes out on home plate, Harry waxes poetic about how wonderful Louis’ tongue is, Niall nearly spits out his beer, and Louis shrinks in his seat, face nearly as red as Liam’s. Harry is oblivious to all of this.

He goes on for another ten minutes about Louis’ mouth.

“Anyways, you just gotta try it for yourself to really understand, y’know?”

Harry looks across the three of them expectantly, like he’s genuinely interested in having a group discussion on the merits of kissing Louis Tomlinson; starting a TED talk on it and everything. When he turns to Louis, his face reads like an innocent child instead of a twenty-something man in the Navy who’s just gone into detail about what Louis’ lips feel like when he laughs. It’s all painfully endearing and Louis has no self-control, apparently, because instead of playing it cool and making a joke of Harry’s painful earnestness, he leans forward to cup Harry’s face in his hands and kiss him senseless.

He smiles into that kiss too, but Harry does as well, so he doesn’t consider it much of a loss.

“Oh my God,” he hears Niall say. “I see where Liam’s coming from. Shit. You two need to get the fuck out of here.”

Liam groans with exhaustion, “ _Thank you_ , Jesus. Finally, someone who understands. Do you see what I’ve had to deal with all day?”

“You guys are such party poopers,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ lips, eyes still closed and dimples still deep as ever.

“The worst,” Louis agrees between kisses, smiling.

“Absolutely useless.”

“We should continue making out just to annoy them.”

“We could go on for days.”

That, apparently, is all it takes for Niall to kick them out of their seats, walk them out of the stadium, and declare them banned for life from Yankees Stadium and his presence. He mumbles a formal _until further notice_ about the latter declaration, but without much enthusiasm.

“In retrospect, that probably could have gone a lot worse.”

Louis turns to Harry, who’s still holding his hand as they stand outside the gates watching Niall return to the stadium entrances. “How do you mean?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Think if we kept at it for a few more minutes I probably would’ve ended up blowing you or something.”

Louis chokes on his tongue.

“Then we _really_ would have been banned from this place, although I’ve never really minded putting on a show. If you were up for it I think it could have been quite fun, no?”

“Are you trying to kill me?” Louis deadpans when Harry turns to face him.

Harry, on the other hand, seems completely unfazed by his rated R train of thought. He tugs on Louis’ palm instead and smiles sweetly – genuinely sweet and soft and lovely and Louis has no clue how those kinds of words come out of such pretty lips, from such a darling face.

“Zayn’s upstate for an art show tonight and left me his keys,” Harry says. “How do you feel about giving Niall and Liam some of that privacy they were asking for?”

Louis leans over on his tiptoes and kisses him with a smile. Harry takes it as a yes.

∞

“And this is Gemma and I on her eighth birthday when she made me dress like Tinkerbell because she was going through a Peter Pan phase.”

“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t need much convincing?”

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis, a sly grin on his lips. “Because I didn’t,” he answers easily. “S’much easier to fuck about when you don’t have pants in your way.” He presses a kiss to Louis’ dimple and quickly turns back to his phone, sliding it over to a new photo. “This is the time Zayn took me to senior prom because our moms wouldn’t let us miss out on such a monumental life event. Notice how we’ve both got corsages on our wrists?”

“And matching suits, apparently,” Louis hums, trying his best to keep the uncalled for jealousy out of his voice.

“Yeah, Zayn looks quite good in red so we went with that.”

It’s not that Louis finds some sort of competition in Zayn – he’d only spoken a handful of words with him at his party last night, all of them in quick greeting before Harry had dragged him away – but it’s clear that Zayn goes way, _way_ back with Harry. Louis’ only known him for a day. There is no competition and even if there was, Louis’ too far behind now to even catch up. An unwelcome nerve grows in Louis’ belly so he tries to change the subject from Zayn and his god-like beauty.

“How come you didn’t want to go to prom?”

Harry zooms into the photo on his phone, staring at the roses on his wrist in silence before shrugging. “I grew up in a tiny town in the middle of South Carolina, Lou. You can imagine it hasn’t got much to offer an openly gay farm kid and a poetic artist type. There were literally more cows than people in that town, Louis, it was ridiculous.”

Louis brushes Harry’s hair out of his face, kisses the top of his head. “Were you not happy back home?” he asks quietly.

“No, I was, I think. I just—felt so small there. We needed so much more than we were getting, Zayn and I. You know I’d never even been on a plane before I started piloting at the Academy?” Harry lets out in a small chuckle, laughing to – and at – himself. “Craziest experience of my life, fuck.”

“Did you at least have fun at prom, then?” Louis asks, trying not to show the relief he feels at Harry’s words.

“So much more than I thought we would.” He doesn’t need to see Harry to hear the smile in his voice as he reminisces. “Zayn made the DJ play the Electric Slide for, like, twenty minutes straight and I got all our teachers to join in. We ditched halfway through to go spike the punch.”

Louis can’t help but laugh at the image of an eighteen year old Harry wiggling his hips with fifty year old chemistry teachers and getting the entire room tipsy with peach schnapps and a winning grin. If Louis’ prom had been anything like that, he probably wouldn’t have left twenty minutes in to go get high with Niall.

“And what about now?” Louis asks curiously. “Do you feel small here too?”

Louis doesn’t mean to hold his breath for Harry’s answer, but Harry must notice anyway because he turns over so that he’s laid out on top of Louis, chin digging into the center of Louis’ chest. Under the bright lights of the city Harry’s eyes sparkle like something straight out of a Disney movie. He looks younger than his 24 years; Louis wonders if it should be this easy to adore someone.  

“I feel…” Harry starts, staring into Louis’ eyes like he’s asking for help on the right word.

A moment passes and it seems like Harry’s gotten lost; completely forgotten that he’d started a sentence.

And then he remembers.

“I feel infinite here.”

He buries his face into Louis’ chest and Louis tries not to think too much into it, whether Harry is talking about New York or the Navy or here, in Louis’ arms. They fall asleep like that, tangled up in one another under the city lights, the question of infinity on both their minds.

∞

The next morning Louis wakes up on a bed that isn’t his or Harry’s and is definitely not the balcony couch they fell asleep on last night. There’s a Harry-shaped octopus attached to his back, a leg fitted in between his, shallow breaths warm against his bare neck. He can’t remember making it back to a bed last night – or stripping down to his boxers – so he figures Harry must’ve carried them over at some point. He feels an almost unnatural amount of affection for this boy he’s only just met.

Louis flops around until he’s on his back, making Harry grumble unhappily in his sleep before he settles back into the crook of Louis’ neck and throws his leg over Louis’ hip. It’s raining, Louis notices, and Harry’s lips are a dark pink color, warm against his neck unlike his chilly toes that tickle at Louis’ ankles. Louis drags the covers over them and pulls Harry closer into his arms.

He has no clue what time it is, but he knows that it’s Wednesday, which means in five days they’ll be out of Manhattan. Louis stomach churns in discontent. Four days, actually, if doesn’t include counts his trip back to the lake house. It’s the first time in years that he’s dreading the visit back to upstate property with his family, now that Harry’s in the picture. If he can even be considered _in_ the picture, really, since he’s still technically mostly a stranger. It feels like Louis’ getting way ahead of himself, and he doesn’t know how that happened either.

Louis turns to Harry in his arms, fast sleep and breathing even. He looks smaller than he really is when he’s all curled up with his springy brown hair and soft breaths, tucked close into Louis’ arms. Louis wants to kiss him even – and _especially_ – now. He thinks Harry’s lips would be extra warm and pillowy now if he’d pressed his own against them, but they _are_ so warm and pillowy against his neck that Louis hasn’t got the heart to pull away and be selfish. He presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead and pulls the covers all the way up, cocooning them in warmth as it continues to pour outside.

As Harry sleeps peacefully Louis takes a look around the room. It’s painted in hues of blues and grays, artfully detailed in its simple design. From what he’s learned about Zayn, Louis can’t imagine this being much of his taste, based on what he’s seen of the rest of the apartment. Instead it reads like a book of _Harry Harry Harry_ all over.

Across the walls there are photographs lined neatly, most of them appearing to be in some sort of chronological order. A picture of Harry and Zayn as babies, naked in a bathtub with foamy beards and rubber duckies on their heads. Harry had showed Louis that picture on his phone last night. Apparently it’s not only in a fancy frame in this bedroom, but also in a photo album titled _H & Z_ on Harry’s mother’s Facebook.

There’s a photo of Harry with Liam, the two of them dressed in uniform with what Louis recognizes as the USS Strong in the back. Their faces are uncharacteristically serious and it makes Louis feel almost uncomfortable. The Harry in the photo has perfect posture and no humor in his eyes. His lips are a thin, firm line and his curls aren’t loose in his face, but pushed back inside his cap. The Harry in that photo looks fresh out of the Academy, tense and ready to serve his country.

And the picture right next to it is of Harry and Liam laughing wildly and red in the face. Liam is holding chest with his mouth open in laughter and beside him is Harry, whose head is thrown back and looks nothing like the version on himself in the previous picture.

This Harry’s cap is on the ground and his curls are wild and free. His lips are pink and open in a wide smile, his eyes shut tight. He’s squeezing one arm around his stomach and the other around Liam’s shoulder. He looks like he’s going to break apart from laughing so hard, like the tense, stern, humorless Harry of ten seconds ago is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

Louis shuffles until he’s on his side and staring back at the Harry in his arms. This Harry is soft and peaceful. He’s warm against Louis’ skin and he clings happily, even in his sleep. Louis wonders what he’s dreaming about, if maybe he’s made an appearance in any of Harry’s dreams yet. Either way, he thinks, this Harry, the one in his arms with the soft skin and even breathing, is his favorite of them all.

∞

The second time that Louis wakes up it’s still raining outside and Harry is kneeling by the bed cooing his name in a hushed whisper. He’s been going at it for some time now. Harry is apparently a very adamant alarm clock, but Louis is not in the mood for praising.

“Looouuu wake up, baby, come on.”

Louis makes an unappreciative grumbling noise in the back of his throat. He’d flip over as well if it weren’t for Harry’s fingers softly brushing away at his hair and scratching at his scalp. He’s got _some_ self-control, but he’s not entirely that strong willed. Not where Harry is involved, at least.

“I made you pancakes,” Harry whispers in what’s probably his fifth attempt at getting Louis out of bed. “They’ve got raspberries in them too. You said those were your favorite, Lou, remember? Now wake up or they’ll get cold.”

“Get back into bed,” Louis mumbles, eyes still closed. It’s his weak attempt at putting up a fight, but he’d really appreciate it if Harry were still there to cuddle. At least he’s putting a fight at all, considering how weak and sluggish he is from the lack of cuddles.

“I _can’t_ ,” Harry pouts. “There’s a Harry Potter marathon on TV and I really wanna watch it.” He pauses for a second and then quickly adds, “With you.”

Louis is not convinced. “There’s literally _always_ a Harry Potter marathon on, Harold. Try again.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“It’s four in the morning somewhere in the world.”

“You’re going to get a headache if you sleep too much.”

Louis snuggles deeper into his makeshift cocoon and exhales dreamily. “Don’t care,” he mumbles. “S’worth it.”

“I wanna make out on the couch.”

Louis wakes up. He blinks once, twice at Harry’s crouched figure by the bed, arm still outstretched and twirling wayward strands of Louis’ hair. He’s got a dopey, victorious grin on his face.

“You have my attention.”

“Good,” Harry chirps, leaning over to press a kiss to Louis’ forehead. “There’s some towels and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom for you, and I put your clothes from last night in the wash. I lied about the pancakes, but I can make some if you want. Come on, I’ve been keeping the couch warm for you.”

Louis gapes at him in shock. Harry Styles is a _menace_. “Yesterday you woke me up with breakfast in bed and today you’re telling me lies and calling me dirty,” he huffs. ”I think I’m a bit offended, Harold, you’ve _obviously_ lost your touch. I’m going back to sleep.” He flips onto his back dramatically and throws the covers over his face.

“No!” Harry cries. Half a second later he’s jumping up and flopping on top of Louis’ body, clinging desperately. He pulls the covers away and tucks his head underneath Louis’ chin. His springy curls tickle Louis until he finds himself giggling and wrapping his arms around Harry. “Get outta bed Louis, _please_. I’m lonely.”

Louis digs an arm out of his cocoon to pinch Harry’s hip. “That’s what you get for leaving me all alone in this giant bed.”

“A horribly senseless and very selfish act on my part, I do apologize.”

“I think I’m going to need at least twenty minutes of cuddling in return.” Louis tightens his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “Maybe thirty, but I’m not feeling very generous.”

“And then you’ll get up?” Harry asks, a hopefulness to his voice.

“If you make me those raspberry pancakes you very rudely lied about, then yes.”

“Deal.” Harry shuffles about until he’s more comfortable, body perfectly aligned with Louis’. He nuzzles closer to Louis’ neck and Louis can see from where his face is buried in Harry’s hair that his eyes are blissfully closed already.

“Thirty minutes,” Harry says sternly. “And then we’re getting up.”

“Thirty minutes, not a second more.”

“Thirty minutes.”

∞

They end up falling asleep for another hour. Harry is so disappointed that he makes Louis chocolate chip pancakes as punishment and doesn’t let him watch the end of the second Harry Potter movie with him. Louis makes it up to him by wearing his clothes and kissing him with syrupy lips.

Harry doesn’t stay angry for long.

∞

“Harry.”

“Yes, Louis?”

“Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t just Zayn’s place?”

With his head in one hand, Louis looks down at Harry sprawled on their improvised bed of blankets. The thought had occurred to him hours ago, in the early morning, but he hadn’t been absolutely sure of it until much later, around the time that he noticed the closet full of ragged hipster clothing and the ease with which Harry moved about in the kitchen.

 “’Cos it’s not,” Harry answers with a yawn. There’s a bowl of raspberries by his hip that he’s been dipping his hand in and nibbling on for the last hour, lips now deep red and sugary sweet as a result. (Louis knows because he hasn’t been able to stop kissing him since.) “But Zayn won’t let me chip in on rent and I’m not here three fourths of the year. S’not really fair to call it my place, is it?”

Louis, confused as it is, watches Harry blink awake. “Then where is home?” he asks.

Harry is quieter when he speaks this time, eyes on the ceiling. “I don’t know. I guess wherever family is, so probably South Carolina or wherever I follow Zayn to next. Never really thought about it.”

“You’ve never thought about where _home_ is?”

Louis doesn’t mean to sound as incredulous as he does, but Harry’s 24 years old and he spends the majority of his year out at sea, serving his country, and then, apparently, just… Comes home to _wherever_? That doesn’t sound okay to Louis.

Harry deserves more than that. Like, a white picket fence and a big backyard, or something. Some place loud, with lots of laughter and homemade quilts, that smells like baked goods and fresh laundry every day of the week. Louis can’t really imagine Harry elsewhere.

Or in this case, nowhere.

“I guess I’ve just never really had time to.” Harry shrugs to himself, still not looking Louis in the eyes. “It’s nice staying with Zayn. He always makes sure there’s a bottle of my favorite shampoo and he never treats me like some soppy patriot or something.” Outside, the rain patters on furiously and Harry sighs, again, his exhale matching a rumble of thunder. “S’nice to just be Harry sometimes, no relation to the Navy or whatever. I think I miss that part when I’m not home.”

“What about when you wanna settle down, though?” Louis pesters. “Like, if you find yourself a nice boyfriend and you wanna get married?”

“Well I’ve never had a boyfriend before, so.”

Louis lips frown on their own accord. “As in, like, not since you’ve been in the service?”

There’s an embarrassed blush on Harry’s cheek when he answers quietly, “As in ever, Louis.”

“ _Never?_ ”

Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head, just the tiniest bit, like it’s easier if he confesses that small bit of information over without Louis being able to see the mortification in his eyes.

Louis drops his arm and uses it as a pillow. He tries to keep his heart from jumping out of his chest, but he’s not doing a very good job at the moment. Harry’s making it very difficult for him, but that’s nothing new.

“No one else was out in my town when I was younger,” Harry explains after a beat of silence between them. He hasn’t yet the heart to open up his eyes, but he continues, “There must’ve been at least one other person who was gay, statistically and everything, but no one ever came out, you know? _Ever._ I was so _frustrated_ that I came out my freshmen year and spent the next four years like some virgin child of God or something. And then I went ahead and joined the Navy, because I’m clearly a masochistic bastard like that, so.”

“ _Harry_ —”

“No, don’t. It’s okay,” Harry responds too quickly, voice cracking with his soft _okay_. He finally opens his eyes, but doesn’t keep them open for long before he’s curling into Louis’ chest, finding solace in the fact that Louis will never turn him down on that much. “Zayn and I would go to these parties a couple of towns over the summer before I had to leave, but that was – I was 18. And stupid. _So_ stupid and nervous. Never made it past a lousy handjob anyway, so I don’t know. It was dumb to expect anything, really.”

Louis doesn’t know why – he does, actually, but he’d much rather pretend otherwise, for now – but he feels embarrassingly defensive about Harry and slightly offended for him. Harry’s a fucking catch and even if Louis weren’t into guys he’s pretty sure that opinion wouldn’t change at all. _Anyone_ would be lucky to have him, but an even larger part of Louis shamefully sighs with relief that 18 year old Harry hadn’t given himself up to just any Southern boy that popped up and called him pretty. He would never expect that kind of behavior from Harry, so he’s not really surprised, yet he can’t help but wonder how long Harry had settled for those lousy handjobs before he finally got an upgrade. Or if he never did.

Louis thinks he’d rather not know.

He looks down at the 24 year old buried against his chest, still nervous and embarrassed, it seems. His icy toes tickle Louis’ bare ankles – something Louis finds he’s gotten used to these last few days. He inhales a long breath, face nuzzled into the top of Harry’s head, and tries to keep his tired sigh at bay.

“You weren’t missing out on much, by the way,” Louis confesses some time later. “Sex in high school is lousy for everybody and boyfriends suck no matter what age you are. Invest in a puppy, Harold, you’ll be much better off.”

He can feel it against his chest when Harry chuckles. “A puppy, then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Louis defends, “they’re a lot more loyal and everything. They piss on your carpets every once in a while, sure, but get a few drinks in your boyfriend and he’ll probably do the same. At least the puppy won’t throw up in his mess afterward as well.”

Harry is quiet for a moment before he picks his head up and stares right into Louis’ eyes, completely serious. “Louis,” he deadpans. “Exactly how many of your boyfriends have peed on your carpet?”

They end up in a fit of giggles, limbs and laughs all tangled up together on the floor by the fireplace as the rain plays on in the background for them. They crush the raspberries on accident and Louis can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. It’s only when Harry’s wiped away the tears from his eyes and the room is silent, finally, from the echoes of bright, bubbly giggles, that Louis catches his breath.

“You know,” Harry mumbles against his neck when they’ve settled down and Harry’s rolled back into his arms. “I would never do that to you.” There’s a raspberry stuck to Louis’ neck that Harry is very adamant about cleaning up. With his mouth. And teeth, and tongue. He needs to make sure Louis’ neck is one hundred percent raspberry free, that’s all.

Louis strains to keep his voice even. “Do what?”

He’s not really sure what he’s expecting, but it’s definitely not the answer he gets out of Harry in between kisses.

“I would never pee on your carpets, Louis.”

He doesn’t let himself think into it too much.

∞

Somewhere in between raspberry kisses and watching Harry watch Harry Potter for too many consecutive hours, Louis realizes that he hasn’t done anything all week but hang out with Harry. And all he’s done with Harry is talk, really, and make out and cuddle and all of the other PG things Louis did when he was thirteen and mildly ( _somewhat_ , if he’s being generous) innocent. Either Harry’s not interested in going any further with Louis or he’s just not interested in going any further _period_. Maybe out of inexperience, or maybe he has some previous celibacy agreement with God, being a Southern boy and all.

Louis’ doesn’t really sweat about it – oddly enough, he finds himself enjoying PG-Harry and his cuddles – until Thursday morning when the dam breaks and months and months of pent-up frustration wakes Louis up with a very desperate cock rubbing against his hip.

He assumes he’s still dreaming, barely awake as it is when it starts, but then he’s slowly blinking awake and it doesn’t stop. He’s flat on his stomach, Harry draped across his back, and it takes him half a second to put one and two together, even in his barely-conscious morning state. Harry tightens his grip around Louis’ hip and rubs against him a little more roughly. Louis tries not to moan when Harry hums into his neck, the softest of pants warming Louis’ skin.

His entire body goes from comfortably warm to _completely on fire_ in the amount of time it takes Harry to stifle another whimper into his neck and grind this time, deeper and rougher into the soft flesh of his hip, right above the curve of his ass.

Louis falters in his response. Is he supposed to wake Harry up and send him running straight to the toilets in embarrassment? Is he supposed to let Harry continue and come in his boxers like a teenager? Or is he supposed to grind back, wake Harry up, and beg him not to stop, to take it further and give them both a desperate release?

He tries to think his options through, he really does, but it’s so hard to think straight when the sun’s barely up and a very horny Harry Styles is rubbing his thick, unfortunately clothed and very hot cock into the dimples at the bottom of his spine and mouthing against his bare skin, little whimpers escaping on their own accord.

Louis decides to let Harry continue because he’s a good person like that. Also, he’s extremely hard himself and if Harry continues rubbing his wet patch of precome against him then he’s going to come on Zayn’s very fancy sheets and it’d be a lot less mortifying if Harry weren’t awake for that.

It’s a wonder that he manages to control his body at all, considering how Harry’s quickened his frantic movements, gripping Louis’ hip so tightly that Louis can almost feel the bruises blooming in the process. Harry’s not just holding him – he’s completely using Louis’ body to get himself off. He isn’t isn’t aware that Louis is awake and conscious, could easily give him so much more and get something out of it as well, but he’s using Louis’ body like a prop and using him to his pleasure. Whatever he’s thinking about, Harry is clearly overcome with a desperate forcefulness. The thought of that alone is enough to send Louis whimpering as well, rutting against the bed in a distressed attempt for some friction on his aching cock. Harry bites into his shoulder, piercing Louis’ skin with his teeth, and he grinds against him so roughly that it almost feels as if he’s snapping his hips, swiveling them until he’s rutting lower now, against Louis’ ass.

He lets out a throaty moan and Louis wants to scream because he can feel the head of Harry’s cock poking out from his boxers and he can feel it become more and more free with every snap of his hips, to the point where it comes free almost entirely and drags Louis’ own boxers down. He can feel it when Harry’s stiff cock pushes into the soft skin of his cheek, dragging his skin across as he holds Louis’ hips down and doesn’t stop his own.

There’s no way Harry’s not awake, Louis thinks to himself. There’s no way that he’s completely unaware of his tight hold on Louis, of the fact that’s grinding into his ass and bruising his hips, leaving marks all over his neck. No one just sleeps through this – no one gets this worked up in their sleep, it can’t be physically possible. What the fuck could Harry be dreaming about that he—

And then he hears it.

It’s barely audible, but Louis thinks he could hear his name moaned that softly even in a deafening stadium of millions.

“Louis,” Harry pants by the nape of his neck, his breath hot and stuttered.

Louis knows he shouldn’t push back, but God, does he want to. He wants to feel the sharp bones of Harry’s hips digging into his skin until they bruise, wants to make him come so hard that he wakes up and realizes the mess he’s made. He wants to make Harry pant his name when he’s awake and fully aware of how fucking good it feels to have his cock in Louis’ control.

Beads of sweat build along his forehead and lower back and Louis can feel how close Harry is. He’s got a leg in between Louis’ and they flex with every rut, the muscles of Harry’s long body pressed against him so tightly that Louis knows he’s close as well. He can’t even squeeze an arm between his chest and the bed to touch himself because Harry’s pinned him down entirely, but that only makes him dizzier with lust; the fact that he’s going to end up coming completely untouched and under Harry’s force.

Louis wants to touch him. He wants to twist his arm and press it to Harry’s thick cock and just _feel_ it drag across his skin. God, he just wants Harry to wake up and pin him down properly and fuck him relentlessly. He can’t breathe with how badly he wants so much from him, and then before he knows it he’s whimpering Harry’s name and coming right in his boxers, cock still trapped against the bed.

Somewhere in his mid-orgasm state Louis registers the hot streak of come that shoots across his back, nails and teeth and hips digging into his skin without remorse. Harry’s body stills, muscles tense and tight, as he comes for what feels like ages. Louis’ almost afraid to twist his neck and see just how hard Harry’s come, doesn’t think his oversensitive cock could handle the sight of it.

And then, as if nothing’s happened at all, Harry mumbles Louis’ name one last time, sags against his body, and falls right back asleep.  

Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself.

∞

If Harry has any memory of pinning Louis down and coming all over his back, he surely doesn’t mention it later that day. For a while Louis almost believes that it never really happened either – that he didn’t snake out of bed early in the morning and clean the dried come off his skin and then carefully off of a sleeping Harry – but then he accidentally bumps into the kitchen counter and is reminded of the bruises that Harry’d left on his hips, shaped like the fingerprints that held tightly and refuse to let him forget.

It’s just – he’s not really sure how to bring it up. Harry is so much chirpier today, bouncing on his toes and curling himself up around Louis at every chance he gets. He’s cuddly and terribly sweet, more so than usual – which Louis wasn’t aware was even humanly possible, but there goes Harry Styles, defying all logic once again.

They play footsie at breakfast and Harry keeps his eyes on Louis the entire time, starry-eyed and giddy.

“You seem to be in a good mood today,” Louis points out as he takes a sip of his tea.

Harry grins even wider. He’s been wolfing down his French toast like a madman, cheeks now bulging out ridiculously. He looks like a chipmunk and Louis’ heart nearly flutters in his chest. An overgrown, curly-haired chipmunk is not something he’s supposed to find so stupidly endearing. Harry is the absolute worst.

“M’just happy,” Chipmunk Harry says with his mouth full.

So Louis can’t really bring it up, can he? Not with the way Harry’s eyes read something like a silent, unexplained _thank you_. He’s happy and he’s cuddly and he still smiles every time he kisses Louis. What’s there to complain about? So what if Louis wants to fuck him senseless and maybe get on his hands and knees for him a few times as well? It’s not a feeling he typically has about overgrown, curly-haired chipmunks, but Harry is obviously the exception to everything.

If anything, Harry’s contagious bubbliness makes Louis want him that much worse. He finds himself watching Harry more than ever now; the languid movement of his lips when he drawls out stories, his clumsy excuse for limbs that go on for days, how he ruffles his hair when he blushes. He’s so ridiculously beautiful and soft, folds up like a piece of origami in Louis’ lap.

And that’s the only version of him Louis would think exists, until there’s a mention of the Navy or Harry wraps a hand around Louis’ hips unknowingly. Louis freezes up those times, body going taut as he’s reminded that Harry is muscle, too, could and _has_ proved what he’s capable of. There’s _so much_ to Harry that Louis feels like he hasn’t even gotten a taste of him yet, is convinced he’ll never to know him in whole.

Needless to say, it sets him off for the rest of the day. He’s never wanted anyone the way that he wants Harry, and his head hurts from trying to make sense of the coiling ache in his groin. What he wants is for Harry to pin him down and make it hard for him to walk the next day. At the same time, he just really wants to show Harry that he can do the exact same to him; fuck him until his hipbones leave bruises against his ass and then spank him a little, get him red and stinging and hot in his hands.

He’s never been with someone else from the service, is the problem, he thinks. There have been guys bigger than him and taller than him and once or twice stronger than him, but no one who’s been all three _and_ in a uniform, who happens to come off as the exact opposite. Louis watches Harry closely all day and he _knows_ sex with Harry would be athletic and rough and overwhelmingly mind-blowing. And then Harry will do something like bury his face under Louis’ chin and Louis realizes that sex with Harry would be soft and careful and something his body will probably never be able to forget as well.

He’s stuck inside his head and Harry notices, because he invites Louis out for drinks that night. Zayn is coming back from his trip and he wants to see Liam and Harry before they’re off again. Harry really thinks Louis could use a night out.

“But I _have_ had nights out,” Louis argues. “We’ve gone out plenty of times this week.”

Harry looks up from where he’s playing with Louis’ fingers, giving a little extra attention to his ring finger. “But Zayn _really_ wants to meet you, Lou. Like, _properly_ , not like that night with the fireworks. Plus, Liam’s already invited Niall along anyways, so _please_? It’s important to me.”

“Liam invited _Niall_ along? How the fuck did that even happen?”

“They were hanging out when Zayn called him,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly, like it doesn’t mean anything that two of their closest friends are hitting it off and spending time together. “Now will you come, _please_?”

He makes his eyes wide and holds Louis’ hands tightly against his chest like the bastard that he is. Louis swears he sees his lips curl in a pout as well. God-fucking-damnit. It was a hopeless battle anyway, he admits to himself. He doesn’t stand a chance against Harry Styles’ pout.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go out,” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes. “But I should get back to the hotel to get ready, then. And don’t think you can just get me liquored up for your own amusement, Styles. I don’t have time for fireworks tonight and I’ve gotta give tours on the ship tomorrow.”

Harry visibly brightens, straightening up in excitement because Louis _said yes_. “Me too!” he squeals. “I’ve gotta give tours around noon! This is great! We can keep each other in check and everything, Lou.”

Louis is not entirely convinced this is a Good Idea, but Harry coaxes him off the couch and takes a cab with him back to his hotel, so he doesn’t mention how bad an idea it is to mix his current dilemma with alcohol _and_ Harry, the sole reason said dilemma exists in the first place. He pushes all his reluctance to the back of his mind and decides to focus on how tightly Harry holds his hand in the cab, on the streets, in the elevator, outside his hotel room. It’s a lot more comforting, anyway.

“So, I’ll see you around 8:30, yeah?”

Louis hums in response and continues rifling through his wallet for his room key.

“I’ll text Niall the address to the bar later.”

Louis nods distractedly, “Okay.”

“You should wear your normal clothes, too. Forget about your uniform.”

Louis’ about to hum again when he feels Harry’s hand at his jaw, forcing him to look up from his wallet. “Hey,” he whispers quietly. “You okay?”

His eyes bore into Louis’, but it feels like it’s his entire body being stared down, every inch of his skin on fire from standing so close to Harry, being in his hold.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? – _Don’t_ nod your head, Louis.”

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls away from Harry’s grip. “I’m fine, Harry.”

He takes a step back, realizing that Harry’s practically got him trapped against the door. Harry notices his movement immediately, the slightest flash of hurt in his eyes before he’s taking a step back as well and schooling his emotions.

“You seem a bit off,” he points out more quietly.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Do I?”

Harry nods his head and for the first time all day, he doesn’t look like the sun is shining out his ass. He bites the corner of his lip and drops his head, furiously staring at his shoes like he’s blaming them for whatever he thinks he’s done wrong. Louis feels guilty instantly. He’s never seen Harry so hesitant and closed off. It almost feels disgustingly wrong, going against all things natural in the universe.

“Hey, come here,” Louis coos, taking a step back toward Harry. “I’m sorry.”

Harry shakes his head, still not looking up. “No, it’s my fault. I’ve been too pushy, m’sorry. You don’t have to come out tonight if you don’t—”

“I _do_ want to go out tonight,” Louis quickly interrupts. He wraps his arms around Harry’s small waist and squeezes. “Hey, don’t apologize, honestly. Look at me, Haz.”

Harry takes the smallest step closer and peeks up at Louis nervously.

“You’re not pushy, baby. You’re much too sweet to be pushy.” Louis steps up on his tippy toes and kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek and keeping the other at the small of his back, pulling him in closer. “The sweetest – boy – I’ve ever – known,” he promises between kisses. “Of course I want to go out with you tonight. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.”

Somewhere in between the first and fifteenth kiss Harry smiles again, preening under Louis’ praise and kissing him back. “It’s okay,” he practically giggles. “I just really like spending time with you. I’m sorry if that ma—”

Louis cuts him off sternly. “What did I say about apologizing, Harold?”

Harry rolls his eyes, shrugs a careless _“Oops,”_ and wraps his arms around Louis’ neck, nuzzling in close and exhaling a relieved sigh. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

Louis feels a kiss against his collarbone.

“Good thing I’m not trying, then,” Harry sighs dreamily.

∞

Zayn has known Harry for a very, very long time. Before he even knew how to spell his own name, Zayn was helping Harry onto his tricycle, and fucking up his Nana’s garden with him, and playing Cops and Robbers with a then chubby-legged Harry Styles. He’s known Harry for a _very_ long time, before the service and the bandanas and the long legs, but in all the years he’s known him, he’s never seen him look the way he does on Thursday night when the infamous Louis Tomlinson walks into the bar.

“That’s him,” Harry nearly squeals into his ear, breath hot with excitement and the two beers he’s had already. “Isn’t he beautiful? Look at his hips – oh my God, wait ‘til you see his butt _Zayn_ —”

He’s practically jumping out of his seat by the time Louis and a bleached blond by his side make it past the rush at the entrance. Liam informs him that the blond is Niall, like the helpful friend that he is, while Harry crosses the bar in _literally_ three steps to make it to his Louis, like any longer would be a crime against humanity. Zayn doesn’t get a single word in.

Harry is a mess.

“Has he been like this all week?” Zayn asks Liam, an eyebrow raised disbelievingly. Harry’s been running his mouth off to him about Louis this and Louis that since Monday, but he’s always been one to get easily amused with new friends, so Zayn hadn’t really thought much of it. Until now, that is.

Liam takes a long swing of his beer and shakes his head. He almost looks like he’s suffering from PTSD, HarryandLouis inflicted. “You have no fucking clue what you’re in for, man.”

Zayn turns back around and lo and behold, Harry and Louis are wrapped around each other like vines already. He notices from the corner of his eye Niall turning to the bar, but it’s hard to keep his focus away from the two of _them_. Louis mumbles something into Harry’s ear and Harry buries his face even deeper into the crook of his neck, their bodies shaking in laughter. 

It’s – alarming, a bit. He’s never seen Harry hug someone quite like that; so ferociously, like he’s trying to make them one person. And he’s never heard Harry talk about anyone the way he does with Louis, so it makes sense to see his sickening adoration live and in person.

Most of all, though, he’s never seen anyone hold Harry the way that Louis does, arms tight around his waist and _determined_ to make them one.

It makes Zayn feel like he’s watching something so private – too private, for a crowded bar in the middle of Manhattan. It’s nearly vomit-inducing as he reads Louis lips whisper an _“Am I allowed to kiss you?”_ and watch Harry nod his head eagerly. Zayn doesn’t need to see his best friend’s face to know that he’s got stars in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath and turns to Liam. “It’s so much worse than I thought, bro.”

“Give them twenty minutes,” Liam says like an eerily specific psychic, “and then you’ll see just how huge an understatement that is.”

So Zayn doesn’t go in with the intention of disliking Louis, but he definitely hadn’t planned on liking him as much as he does in the end.

Louis is friendly and chatty. When he talks, it’s not just him going off for forty minutes about himself or saying ten words the entire conversation. He asks questions, genuinely curious, and he’s fucking interesting, is the thing, makes you feel like you are as well. He’s a conversationalist – a funny one, as well. Louis could probably talk to a wall and find something in common with it. The wall would probably blush and ask Louis for his number. The wall is probably Harry Styles, come to think of it.

It makes sense what Harry sees in him, Zayn realizes.

And after a few drinks, Harry must realize his boy’s got Zayn’s stamp of approval because he drapes himself over Louis and kisses him at every chance he gets, not caring if Louis’ taking a sip of his beer or telling Zayn a story about how badly he’d fucked up his knee in high school from skateboarding. Harry is _disgustingly_ proud, and Louis isn’t much better.

“Hey, you should meet my family tomorrow,” he suggests at one point, staring at Harry with his eyes wide, like it’s the best idea he’s ever had and he can’t fucking believe it took him so long.

It’s like watching a car accident. Zayn can’t tear eyes away or make it stop, no matter how much he wants to do both.

Harry gapes at Louis. “Are you sure?” he asks hesitantly, though his eyes are screaming _“Yes! Take me home! Show me off to your family! Let’s have 79 children! Right this minute! Where is my wedding ring!”_

“Of course!” Louis grins. “A good southern boy like you—” He pauses to kiss Harry in the mouth. It elicits a vomiting noise from Niall, but it doesn’t make Louis stop. “ _Gotta_ take you home to my mother. She’s gonna love you, babe.”

Harry preens like he’s just be told the sun shines out his ass. “Of course, yeah. I’d love to, Lou.”

It’s worse than watching a car accident, the way Louis and Harry interact. At least with car accidents you _know_ something bad is going to happen. Things break and people get hurt and there’s damage _everywhere_. Nothing good ever happens in a car accident, but Louis and Harry aren’t an accident. They’re uncharted waters.

Zayn’s been in accidents, watched accidents, is quite familiar with how much they hurt in the end, but he’s never seen HarryandLouis, never even seen _Harry_ the way he is with Louis. It’s so much worse because he doesn’t know what to expect from these two; who to protect and what to protect from. Everything is brand new, both for them and for him, on the sidelines and watching his closest friend sink deeper and deeper.

As he watches them hold hands under the table and giggle into one another’s necks, he imagines it can’t possibly be that bad. They aren’t a car accident, but they’re ten times stronger, like the pull of the ocean when you’re drowning. Harry’s always been fond of the ocean anyways.

It’s just fate, probably, and that’s the scary part.

∞

Louis gets to the pier the next morning half an hour late for his shift, hair a mess, and iced coffee pathetically _lukewarm_ in his hands. He is not on top of his game, not by a long shot, and he would very much like to thank Zayn and Liam and Niall for that.

At least they had the decency to split him and Harry up for the night. Louis isn’t completely hungover, so he remembers most of the previous night. Everything from discussing comics with Zayn to Harry getting on one knee and proposing. The latter part is a bit of a blur, but Harry’s the lightest lightweight Louis’ ever seen, so he’s not taken aback by the memory. It’s flattering, if anything.

He’s trying to tuck his hair into a something more appropriate underneath his cap when he comes to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk.

He hasn’t seen her in months, but it’s impossible to not immediately pick his mother’s face out of a crowd. The way she clips her hair up in a messy bun and the dimples in her cheeks, how she bellows out her laughs and admonishes her children without much threat in her voice at all. And beside her – there’s everyone, his dad and all of his girls and even Ernie, the sly little fuck. They’re circled around someone, Louis can’t see the person’s face, but Lottie throws her head back in a loud laugh and Louis’ eyes get so fucking wet, emotions so stupidly out of control that he drops his coffee right out of his hands. It splatters on the ground and ruins his shoes and all Louis can think about is how he hasn’t seen them for months, how the phone call he had with his mother before going out last night doesn’t even compare to how weak his knees are right now from hearing his girls’ laughs in person.

He’s – he needs a minute, is what he needs. Needs to blow the snot out his nose and wipe away his eyes until they’re acceptable and dry, and make his shoes at least a little bit presentable.

Louis’ so caught up in his head that he nearly misses the strange feeling of being watched that heats up his skin. When he looks up, it’s no wonder that he catches Harry’s eyes from meters away, circled by Louis’ entire family.

If Louis was about to lose it ten seconds ago, he sure as hell is about to shit himself into the next century now. It’s the shortest little glance from Harry, their eyes catching amongst the chaos and rush of Fleet Week, so small that Louis’ family doesn’t even notice Harry looking away. He looks slightly confused, but there’s the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. Louis shakes his head and brings a hand up to wave at his flushed face, mouthing at Harry to give him a moment, please. Harry sends him a wink and turns back to the Tomlinson-Deakin clan.

Louis practically runs towards the closest bench, thankfully tucked under a large tree and away from his family and _Harry_. How the fuck did they find him, anyways? Louis can only imagine all the things they’ve discussed already – for however long they have been talking – namely Louis, probably, about how smelly his feet always are and how he kissed a cow once, to raise money for charity in middle school.

 _Shit_. If he can’t get himself together to see his family, then he surely needs to do it for himself. His mother’s got a list the size of the Bible of mortifying stories to tell Harry. Louis would very much like to at least fuck the boy before his mother whips out her phone and shows off his high school performance of Danny Zuko.

He wipes his nose, dries his eyes, fixes his stupid fringe, and finally gets off the bench. It only takes him a handful of mentally recited empowerment quotes that Niall had taught him before he’s ready to face his family. And Harry. His family _and_ Harry _at the same time_.

God-fucking-damnit. The Navy did not prepare him for this.

∞

Louis is 95 percent positive that his family is trying to replace him with Harry.

After the teary introductions and crying against his mother’s neck (refusing to admit it when asked by an incredulous Felicite), his family had not only chosen Harry’s tour of the USS Strong instead of his USS Happily as they always do, but invited him out to lunch later as well. They hadn’t even _mentioned_ lunch to Louis, yet they went straight into the first date with Harold, because apparently Niall keeps Louis’ entire family updated with all aspects of his life and Harry’s been the topic of many a group texts.

As it stands, Louis is currently on his lunch break at a burger place by the pier. It’s the same place they go to every year when his family comes down for Fleet Week, but it’s obviously Harry’s first time and he’s looking at the menu like it’s going to send him to the hospital no matter what he chooses to eat. Even the vegetarian section looks worthy of a visit to the nutrionist.

Thankfully he’s at least sitting next to Louis – a spot that Louis had to physically fight to the death for (in a thumb war, but even that’s grueling as fuck where the Tomlinson-Deakin kids are involved) – so he covers his face with the large menu and sheepishly whispers close to Louis’ ear, “Is there anything here, um, less dangerous for my cholesterol, maybe?”

Louis fixes him with a disbelieving look. He pulls Harry’s menu over to cover his face as well and whispers right back, “Why, Harold? Are you 65 years old?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry whines. He pinches Louis’ thigh under the table. “I need to keep my figure, alright? A body like this doesn’t come from eating 4,000 calorie burgers for a living.”

“Harold, darling, you fly planes for the Navy. Your body could _use_ a 4,000 calorie burger. You haven’t got anyone to impress, anyways.” Louis shrugs his shoulders and removes the menu from their faces, folding it up and placing it back on the table. “Now, treat yourself and eat the fattiest burger in this place or I’m going to personally kick you out and send you to McDonalds.”

Harry frowns at him petulantly for a moment. “I’ve got _you_ to impress, haven’t I?”

Louis almost wishes he still had the menu because his face goes a shade of red appropriate only for tomatoes and laced underwear. He coughs into his fist awkwardly, relieved for once that his family is naturally too loud for him to be heard over anyways. “You’ve already made quite the impression, sunshine.”

“Have I? Are you _sure_?”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Louis hisses under his breath, “would you like me write it on a plaque and mail it to your mother?”

Harry’s eyes brighten like something straight out of a Disney movie. “That sounds wonderful,” he says with a wide grin.

Louis rolls his eyes. “One step at a time, princess.” He picks Harry’s menu back up and slaps it against his chest. “Pick a burger and only then can you consider yourself officially invited to the Tomlinson-Deakin lake house this weekend.”

The second part kind of just spills out of him, but he doesn’t really regret it. Lottie and his mother have been not-so-subtly hinting at Louis to invite Harry over all day, so at least he has someone to blame it on if Harry turns down the offer.

Which. Louis hadn’t really thought about, actually. The possibility of Harry saying no hadn’t occurred to Louis until just now. It’s their last few days in Manhattan before they’re off to the sea again. _Of course_ Harry would want to stay in the city, get a little bit drunk and a lot a bit fucked. Probably by someone who doesn’t have a family the size of a small nation’s army. Someone who isn’t Louis, who probably likes to do things other than cuddle and PG-make-out and not respond to morning wood.

Louis turns to look at Harry and the panic must be clear on his face because Harry quickly lowers his face and squeezes Louis’ thigh. “Hey, no, come off it. I’m in, I’m in.”

“Are you sure?” Louis practically squeaks. He clears his throat, still blushing. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m sure you’d much rather stay in the city and—”

“I just wanna be wherever you are.”

Louis snaps his mouth shut. Harry’s face is so close, enough for Louis to smell the iced tea on his breath and want to kiss him desperately. Unfortunately, there’s a waiter taking everyone’s order and Harry’s green eyes are much too sincere and Louis feels like he can’t breathe anymore whenever he’s around this boy.

“Alright,” he whispers, barely audible. “You and me, then.” Underneath the table he places his hand on top of Harry’s and squeezes, heart fluttering when Harry flips his hand over and twines their fingers together.

Harry looks around the table quickly, making sure everyone else is too preoccupied with their orders, before ducking down and pressing a kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth. “Just you and me.”

∞

The drive to the lake house is a little under three hours. Louis drives Lottie’s car after he and Harry have finished their shift of tours, the Tomlinson-Deakin clan already back at the lake house. They share an overnight bag and Harry quickly makes a roadtrip playlist, fills it up entirely with Bob Dylan and nothing else. He falls asleep an hour in, though, just as the sun is beginning to set and Dylan is going on about _I wanna be your lover, baby, I wanna be your man_. Louis lets it slide because the sun is warm on his skin and Harry is curled up on the passenger side beside him, lips bruised from making out while packing and hair ruffled wildly from the wind.

∞

There’s never been just one moment in Louis’ life that he’s thought he could live in repeat every day for the rest of his life, but as he parks into the driveway of the lake house and Harry slowly blinks awake, he thinks _this_ _could be the moment_. The way Harry slowly comes to his senses and his eyelashes flutter open, forest green eyes immediately finding Louis and breaking out into a small smile, like they’re relieved, at peace; like they’ve found home. The way Harry reaches over to hold Louis’ hand in his, the way he pulls Louis in to kiss the corner of his lips, the way he nuzzles into Louis’ neck and whispers warmly, _“Home?”_

This is that moment, Louis realizes.

∞

“So this is your little love nest, huh?”

Louis watches as Harry flops onto his back and stretches out his limbs. The bed is quite large, but Harry takes up most of it like the happy giant that he is. He wiggles around, almost like he’s testing it out, before grinning slyly and looking around their small cabin behind the lake house.

“Oh, it is _definitely_ a love nest,” he says coquettishly.  

Louis throws a pair of pajamas at Harry’s head. “You _tit_. Behave yourself. I spent half my childhood here, alright? I could do without you sexualizing all of my innocent memories.”

He continues sorting through their bag, but he doesn’t miss the sound of the mattress creaking and Harry asking with peaked interested, “So you’ve never brought another boy here then? Not even a nice girl to show off to your parents?”

Louis shakes his head. “No one worth keeping, nah,” he shrugs.

Which is true. All of his boyfriends – and the two girlfriends he had in high school – were never really important enough to bring back to the lake house. Some of them had gotten far enough to meet Louis’ family and tag along during a family picnic or two, but the lake house is different. It’s more home than home itself – wherever that may be, now that he’s at sea most of the time. He can’t just _bring_ anyone back here. Anyways, that decision isn’t entirely his to make; the lake house is home for the entire family. It’s _important_ and no one’s been here who hasn’t been universally adored and accepted by the whole family.

Louis wasn’t kidding about this place being most of his childhood, either. The land and the house itself originally belonged to his mother’s mother, so Louis’ been _here,_ by the lake, for as long as he can remember. He thinks maybe that’s where his love of the water began. He’s had all of his best memories here; learning to swim, his mother’s wedding, Ernest and Doris’ births. He’s even had the bad memories here; his grandfather’s death, his first boyfriend breaking up with him via text; that time he got a beehive stuck on his head. It’s had its fair share of good and bad, but it’s home nonetheless, and now Harry’s here.

Anyway, Harry doesn’t let him ponder on that for long before he’s making grabby hands and beckoning him over. Louis rolls his eyes, but acquiesces and makes it across the one bedroom cabin in just a few steps. He toes off his shoes and slides onto the bed. Harry shifts onto his side so Louis does the same. They face each like mirrors, staring back at each other, quiet smiles on both of their faces.

“I like this place,” Harry whispers quietly.

Now that they’re outside of the city, Louis feels like he’s hearing Harry clearly for the first time. No taxis honking over them, no subways or angry tourists. It’s weird. Feels like something new, to be with Harry all alone like this, though it’s not. It’s been just them most of the week, but this feels different. He brushes Harry’s curls away from his face and whispers back honestly, “I’m glad you do.”

“You’ve really never brought anyone else back here?”

“No one but family, honestly.”

Outside, Louis can hear the soft lulling of the lake, the wind blowing at it and making it splash against the edges of land. The actual lake house is only a few meters away, the lights still on and Louis’ family bustling about inside. It’s late, past dinner time at least, and Harry and Louis have only just settled into the cabin. They’ll have to go over, say another round of hellos, scarf down reheated leftovers, and probably join in on a game of Pictionary or something.

Louis hopes that Harry likes Pictionary. And his family. He doesn’t know why that’s so important to him; maybe because it’s obvious as hell that everyone from Dan to Ernie are smitten with him. He hopes the feeling is mutual. The way Harry keeps his eyes on Louis, their knees just barely touching over the covers and their positions mirrored perfectly, makes Louis think that maybe he does. Why else would he be here?

Harry’s voice is quiet, if not a little hesitant, when he murmurs gently, “What does that make me, then?”

Louis searches his brain for the right words, eyes glued to the tentative curiosity etched all over Harry’s face.

“It makes you worth keeping,” he decides.

∞

Louis wakes up the next morning with a heavy weight on his thighs.

“ _Harry_ ,” he groans, refusing to open his eyes and deal with the happy giant himself this early in the morning. “Get _off_ me.”

“Louis. Louis, look at me.”

Louis turns his head to the side in an attempt to bury his face in the pillow. “ _No_ ,” he grumbles defiantly.

“ _Lewis_ ,” Harry hisses and. Well, shit. Louis’ never heard him take that tone of voice before. He opens his eyes slowly and then nearly chokes on air because Harry is straddling his thighs, shirt off and face flushed. “Are you awake yet?” he asks impatiently.

“Y-Yes. Yes, fuck, I am. What the hell?”

“Good.” Harry nods his head approvingly, hands moving low on Louis’ stomach. “Because I’ve been waiting to blow you all week and if I have to wait a minute longer I think I’m going to have an aneurysm.”

Louis’ entire brain short-circuits trying to figure out _where this is coming from_. Where has _this_ Harry been all week? And why the fuck did he think he had to _wait_ to blow Louis? Louis would have been perfectly fine with a quick one in the toilets that first night they met. What the _fuck_ is happening and how is all of this not some dream? (He panics for a second, imagining that he is asleep and now it’ll be _him_ rutting against _Harry_.)

“Wait!” shouts Louis just as Harry is about to slide down.

 _“What?”_ Harry hisses.

“Did you lock the door at least? This isn’t exactly something I want my little sisters walking on in. Or Ernie. Or my mother – oh, God, if my mother—”

Harry looks up at him with the most incredulous glare that Louis shuts up instantly. “Do you take me for an idiot, Lewis? As if I need _your mother_ of all people walking in on us fucking.”

“We’re going to fuck?” Louis asks excitedly, voice raising happily.

“If you would let me suck your fucking cock then, yes, I’m sure we could arrange some time for fucking, later.”

Louis doesn’t know why Harry’s being so impatient – okay, he can understand, because he’s been just as hungry, if not more, since Harry’s Thursday morning grind fest – but it makes him feel proud, almost, that _Harry_ wants to _fuck_ him. Harry with the muscles and the dimples and the springy little curls behind his ears. He’s impatient and he’s angry and he’s glaring at Louis because he hasn’t blown him yet. Harry wants to fuck _him_.

Louis’ never felt so accomplished in his entire life. He’s already planning out the details of his new plaque.

“Okay, okay, I’m ready, let’s do this.”

Harry rolls his eyes and nudges Louis’ thighs apart. “Thank you for your invaluable time,” he says sarcastically as he fits himself between Louis’ legs and drops his head.

Louis’ equally sarcastic reply is stolen from him when Harry, in one swift move, pulls his boxers off and goes straight into mouthing at Louis’ balls. His mouth is warm and _so wet_ as he laps his tongue and applies just the slightest bit of pressure around Louis, forgoing any attempt at a warning all together.

Louis hadn’t realized how hard he’d apparently been, but Harry squeezes the base of his cock and hums approvingly. He pulls his mouth off just to mumble a dazed, “So worked up already, aren’t you, Lou?” against Louis’ balls before talking him back him. “Love you so much like this,” he manages with his mouth full and wet.

Even with his eyes closed, Harry finds Louis’ legs and slides them over his shoulders. Short of breath as it is, Louis wraps his thighs around Harry’s head and drops his hands into his curls, tugging experimentally. “More, Harry,” he begs. “ _Please_ , baby, need—”

Harry pulls his mouth off again and blows a breath of cool air against Louis’ wet, tight balls. “What do you want, Louis?” he asks. “Wanna hear you say it, come on.”

“Wanna – wanna fuck your mouth,” Louis chokes out. He squeezes a fistful of hair and hopes that Harry gets the message well enough.

That’s all the push needed, apparently, because Harry quickly makes do with pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses all along Louis’ length. He makes his way up, holding Louis’ cock in one hand and never dragging his plush lips away, getting Louis wet with the smallest, barely-there flicks of his tongue.

Just as he reaches the head of Louis’ cock and Louis thinks that he’s finally going to take him into his beautiful mouth, Harry slides back down and presses another set of kisses down along his length. This time the kisses are closed-mouthed; just his soft lips against Louis’ aching shaft. Harry keeps his eyes closed and kisses in quick succession, as if it’s not a cock against his mouth and in his hands, but the back of Louis’ hand or his cheek or somewhere _decent_ and _appropriate_ for the way he’s kissing him right now. It’s worse than anything Louis’ ever experienced and he can’t look, he really can’t; the soundtrack of appreciative hums that Harry lets out more than enough for him to go red and pulsing under Harry’s touch. Harry’s – he’s treating Louis’ cock like it’s a prize, like he just wants to hold it in his hands (hopefully in more than _just_ his hands) and admire it, and the thought makes Louis’ chest ache

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis croaks out. “Seriously not going to last if you keep teasing like this.”

Louis can tell that Harry’s frowning when he replies, “Then I’ll make you come twice. M’not rushing through this.”

Louis throws his head back, tightens his fists around Harry’s hair, and Harry spends the next ten minutes mouthing at just the head of Louis’ cock. He keeps his tongue flat against the slit and gets Louis’ precome all over his tongue before taking in the head and spreading the slick around, his own wet mouth doubling the effort. He’s all tongue and lips and Louis doesn’t think he’s going to last very long, not with Harry’s promise of a second go ringing in his head on repeat.

What he doesn’t focus on with his mouth, Harry makes up for with his hands. It’s a painful angle he’s laid down on, but he keeps one hand around Louis’ cock and the other at his balls. They both move in light touches, ghosting over Louis’ hot, tight skin, applying random squeezes that Louis never sees coming, no matter how hard he tries to figure out what kind of pattern Harry’s got going.

Louis’ body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles taut and eyes still closed when Harry finally takes Louis into his mouth. It comes out of nowhere, but Harry just slides Louis’ entire throbbing cock into his mouth until it hits the back of his throat and his face is nuzzled into Louis’ stomach.

“ _Harry!”_ Louis shouts, entirely out of his control. “ _Fu_ -cking, a warning would have been nice,” he gasps.

But Harry slides his arms underneath Louis’ thighs and wraps them around the strong muscles there. He pinches the damp skin there but ignores him otherwise, and bobs his head up and down and up and down Louis’ cock. Harry gets him wet, tongue pressed flat against the underside, but he doesn’t apply nearly as much pressure as he could and it drives Louis _mad_. Everything Harry does is just this side of overwhelming, yet not as much as Louis knows it could be; like he’s forced to constantly skirt around the edges of a mindblowing orgasm when it’s _right there_ , just a breath away.

Just as Louis thinks he can’t go much further, Harry wraps his large palms around his hips and forces them to thrust up. Louis’ eyes snap open and Harry’s looking up at him, his mouth full of cock and face flushed red, nodding his head to _yeah, go ahead, fuck my mouth, will ya?_

“Are you sure?”

Harry hums around the head of his cock, the sensation making Louis squeeze his thighs. He takes it as an invitation.

Louis feels exhausted already, though _he_ hasn’t done anything. All of Harry’s teasing has worn him out, and it’s only with one final rush of adrenaline that Louis manages to slowly start fucking into Harry’s mouth, sliding in and out to let him adjust to the heavy weight on his tongue, and pushing at his throat.

Louis forces himself to watch, this time. He doesn’t want to look away or close his eyes or spend another minute of his life doing anything other than watching his cock fucking into Harry’s beautiful mouth. He tries to take in as many details as he can; Harry’s bruised lips, the tears at the corners of his eyes, how his nails dig into Louis’ thighs but refuse to let him stop.

Harry keeps his eyes open the entire time as well, glassy and pupils blown. Even with Louis fisting at his hair and snapping into his mouth, he still manages to look serene and beautiful and relaxed. And welcoming, of all things, like an open book ready for Louis’ taking. He’s unforgiving in every aspect of his beauty and maybe it’s just the fact that Louis’ getting the best head of his life, but he thinks this is what adoring someone must feel like.

And Louis definitely adores Harry. Adores his bubbly giggles and his soft little snores when they’re asleep. Adores his smiley kisses and how he coughs into his fist when he’s nervous. Adore his lithe muscles and his beautiful green eyes, adores how a warning that he’s going to come doesn’t mean anything to Harry. Especially adores how Harry relaxes his throat, lets Louis come inside his mouth and sucks him through his orgasm. Adores everything about Harry, most of all when he slides up his body and kisses him soundly, eyes closed and smiling the entire time.

“Let me take care of you,” Louis offers. He feels pliant and sated and happy, like someone could set the room on fire right this second and he wouldn’t even notice, not with the way Harry’s lips feel against his own.

Harry ignores his offer and continues kissing him, licking into his mouth and nibbling at his lips. Louis can taste himself with every kiss and it shouldn’t make him grin stupidly, but it does. He holds Harry’s hips closer and kisses him fervently, almost like a reward, because he can feel Harry’s aching cock against his hip and it’s unfair, really, that Harry’s already sucked his cock but Louis hasn’t even _seen_ his. (Cleaning him up while he was asleep on Thursday doesn’t count, as far as Louis’ concerned.)

“Hazza, baby—” Louis mumbles between kisses, trying to pull away, “sit on my chest, darling, come on.” He goes to lay flat on his back and Harry stares at him wildly, confused for a second before Louis slides his boxers off for him and hums appreciatively. “Wanna watch you touch yourself for me, baby. Come here.”

It takes Harry a minute – or two, or three – to collect himself, and then he’s quickly climbing high onto Louis’ chest and straddling him.

Louis has a pretty nice dick, all biases aside, but he has no clue why Harry treated his like a prize when his own is worth painting across the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel. Inches away from his mouth, Louis gets the perfect view of Harry’s cock, thick and pink and well-groomed, leaking at the head enough to make Louis’ mouth water and his own cock harden embarrassingly fast all over again at just the sight of it. He would desperately like to repay Harry for the blowjob right around now, but instead he squeezes Harry’s thighs to go ahead and touch himself.

And Louis’ really, _really_ glad he does because Harry’s large palm around his throbbing cock is a sight that he wants permanently imprinted in his memory. Harry must have been hard for God knows how long, so his tight fist is probably the relief that he’s been aching for all morning if his loud moans are anything to go by. Harry starts grinding down on Louis’ chest and tugging at himself, fast and tight and enough to have him arching his back and whimpering Louis’ name repeatedly.

“Lou—” he chokes out, throwing his head back and panting heavily. “ _Lou_ – m’gonna. Gonna come, Louis, wanna come on your face.”

Louis’ never wanted anything more in his life. His cock twitches in agreement and Louis shouldn’t be this close to coming so soon, but he is. His head is spinning and everything smells like sex and lake water and Harry and it’s not enough, as always. “Go ahead, baby,” he says. “Wanna feel you come on my face. Do it, darling.”

Harry, obedient as ever, digs his teeth roughly into his bottom lips, thumbing at his slit, and needs only a few more jerks before he’s streaking Louis’ lips and chin and cheekbones white. Louis wraps one hand around Harry’s cock and the other around his own, and carries his boy through his orgasm as he builds himself closer and closer to his own. Just as he thinks Harry’s finished, ready to collapse on him, he instead ducks down and licks his come off Louis’ sharp cheekbones, cleans his chin, and brings his full mouth to Louis’ lips and kisses him. He licks his come off Louis’ lips and moans pleasantly in his mouth. They take in more, and more, and more of each other, wondering if they’ll ever be sated.

True to his original promise, Harry makes Louis come twice that morning.

∞

They gather the energy to get into the shower about an hour later, when Harry declares that come doesn’t count as breakfast and Louis gets excited at the prospect of having another first with a naked Harry. It’s quiet, as far as showers go, and pleasantly unsexual. Louis appreciates a naked, wet Harry more than anything, but he also really likes washing Harry’s hair and ticking his underarms with a soapy loofa. He likes that when Harry hugs him under the warm spray of the water it doesn’t make him want to do anything other than hug him back and hold him close.

It feels nice, anyway, to have Harry’s long fingers massaging at his scalp and pressing himself close, like even in this tiny cabin’s shower they’re still not close enough. It feels oddly intimate, but Louis welcomes it wholly.

He’ll take everything Harry that offers him.

∞

Something Very Fishy is going on, but Louis doesn’t know what, and it’s driving him crazy. He thinks maybe Harry and his mother are teaming up to plot his death, but that seems a bit unlikely considering Harry held his hand all day and his mother made his favorite meal for lunch. The two of them have been having Private Conversations left and right, cooking lunch and prepping for dinner together, exchanging phone numbers and arranging the game room for after dinner. Whatever they’re up to, Louis absolutely does not trust them.

He goes to Dan, but Dan is oblivious as a rock and asks Louis what the hell he’s on about. Fizzy (very sarcastically) thinks Harry’s making a run for the (very much nonexistent) family jewels, Phoebe, Daisy, and Doris ask him if this means Harry will come over for the 4th of July barbecue, and Lottie thinks that Louis’ just paranoid because this is his first time bringing someone to the lake house. But Louis can trust her either, not after she and Jay and Harry head out to the shops after lunch and leave Louis thoroughly confused and invitation-less.

“Maybe they are planning your wedding,” Ernie suggests later that day when the two of them go for a swim in the lake.

“You think?”

It’s not entirely implausible. Harry _had_ proposed to him that night at the bar, after all. Plus, Louis’ mom has been pushing him to _settle down_ for as long as he can remember. Maybe they are planning a wedding. Louis would be down for that, he thinks. Sounds kind of sick.

“ _No_ , you dummy,” Ernest laughs wildly. He looks ridiculous in his floaties, standing by the edge of the lake with the water barely past his shins (because Louis had promised Dan not to let him drown on his watch). “Harry’s too cool to get married to you.”

“ _Heeey_ ,” Louis pouts, wondering in the back of his mind when he turned into a carbon copy of Harry. “I _am_ cool. I’m the coolest person in the tri-state area! I’m _easily_ the coolest person in this lake right now.”

Ernest crosses his arms over his chest and fixes Louis with a raised eyebrow, unimpressed. “Mom says lying is bad.”

And, well. That’s what Louis gets for trying to discuss possible murder plots and wedding schemes with a four year old.

“You’re not very helpful with this stuff, you know that Ernie?”

“I’m four years old, Louis,” Ernest huffs with a dramatic roll of his eyes – he learned that from Harry this morning, literally got tips on the best eye roll to drive Louis mad and everything. “Let me live, alright.”

Louis splashes the water at his younger brother and laughs. “You’re quite the little pest, man.”

“Thank you,” he shrugs coolly and then quickly says, “Also, Fizzy said to ask you if Harry wants your pearl necklace.”

Louis nearly drowns in the lake himself when he hears that, gawking in disbelief and choking on water. He gives a few chest-aching coughs, face quickly flushing red. He barely manages to screech, “Fizzy said _what_?”

“She wanted to know if you’re giving Harry a pearl necklace,” Ernie answers innocently, like it’s plain as day that he’s clearly talking about the same piece of expensive jewelry their grandma always wore.

“Sweet mother Mary, Ernie, don’t you ever repeat that phrase ever again. Your sister is an absolute _menace_.” Louis rises out of the water and makes his way to the edge where Ernest stands, arms still crossed and thoroughly confused. “Come on, no more swimming for today.”

“Why? What’s so wrong about pearl necklaces?” Ernest whines petulantly. “I wanna stay in the water, _Lou-_ is!”

Louis shakes his head and ignores him completely, grabbing his hand as they walk to the house. “No more swimming. We need to go read the Bible, or something. Cleanse our souls and take Fizzy to church.”

And Ernest follows him anyways, despite his original protests, but not before asking Louis why Harry would want a pearl necklace anyways; doesn’t he know that’s for grandmas only?

Louis vows to sign Fizzy up for an Amish youth group in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania.

∞

The first moment Louis has alone with Harry all day is right before dinner. He’s stretched out on a towel in his damp swim trunks, soaking in as much of the sun as he can before it begins to set, and breathing in the charcoal scent in the air as Dan starts the barbecue not too far away. Harry finds him just like that, on the dock and glistening with little droplets of water all over his golden honey skin.

Louis’ got his eyes closed underneath his sunglasses, but he can hear the boards creak under Harry’s weight as he gets closer. Besides the fact that his body instinctively seems to just _know_ when Harry is near now (that’s a thing that’s going to get a bit of getting used to, Louis realizes), Louis can easily rule out it being any of his family members. They’re all too fucking loud and would have ran toward him, blabbering 200 words a minute.

Harry’s not like that, though. He makes his way toward Louis’ and hovers above him. Maybe he thinks Louis’ asleep or something, because he doesn’t say anything for a while.

“Just gonna stand there and watch me?” Louis mumbles cheekily after a while.

He hears Harry’s soft chuckle and then the wood creaks again as he settles down beside Louis. “Budge over, Tomlinson.”

Louis makes a faux displeased noise in the back of his throat, but he scoots over anyways. The towel really is too small for two grown men to lie on comfortably and Harry is obviously aware of it, but he doesn’t seem to care. They end up pressed together from head to toe, sharing Louis’ balled up t-shirt as a pillow.

Even though he’s fully dressed, Harry also doesn’t seem to be concerned about getting himself wet as he shifts onto his side and slides one of his legs between Louis’. “Hi,” he whispers happily. “Missed you today.”

Louis tells the butterflies in his belly to settle down already. “ _Really_?” he asks incredulously. “Seemed like you were enjoying yourself quite a bit with my mother all day.”

“Oh, she’s great – don’t get me wrong,” Harry defends easily, “but I don’t really think about kissing _her_ every time she opens her mouth to say something.”

Louis snaps his mouth shut. And then immediately decides that’s not going to get him anywhere. “I sure _hope_ you don’t think about those sorts of things, Harold. That would be rather detrimental to what we’ve got going here.”

“What we’ve got going here,” Harry repeats wistfully. It’s weirdly distant, and Louis gets the feeling that this subject they’ve unexpectedly broached the edges of isn’t being brought up for the first time today with Harry.

“Yes,” Louis says. He takes his sunglasses off and turns onto his side, mirroring Harry’s position. They’re exactly as they were this morning, and the thought makes Louis a bit giddy. “I’d very much like to kiss you without having to worry about you and my mother making out, thank you very much. And, you’re not doing a very good job at the moment anyways.”

The pensive look on Harry’s face fades away into something more mischievous and naughty, willing to play along with Louis’ silliness now. “What, pray tell, am I not doing a very good job of at this current moment in time, my dear, sweet Lewis?”

Louis huffs dramatically, “I’ve spoken at least a good ten sentences, and you still haven’t kissed me.”

“Alright, then. I’m sure we can figure out a way to fix that problem right up.”

Louis presses a flat palm to Harry’s chest just as he tries to lean over and kiss his face off. “You don’t actually think I’m going to let you off that easy, do you?” Louis chuckles disbelievingly. “After you put the image of you and my mother making out in my head _and_ spent the entire day giggling and running off with her.”

“ _Lou-is_ ,” Harry groans so loud and dramatically, it’s practically worthy of its own reality show on MTV. He seems a little restless and jumpy right now, so much so that he pushes Louis onto his back and flops on top of him, humming happily when he finally nuzzles his nose against Louis’ jaw. “Much better.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Have been meaning to touch you very much all day. Sorry I didn’t get the chance.”

“And no kisses, either,” Louis reminds him.

Harry whines high and sad against his skin, looking like a kicked puppy with the ridiculous pout on his face (that Louis can’t seem to stop staring at, or smiling at, or thinking about kissing off). “Too soon, Lou.” He frowns even deeper, eyes still closed. “You’re not allowed to talk about kisses if I’m not allowed to give you any.”

Louis pinches his hip and then quickly wraps an arm around it, almost apologetically. “That is entirely _your_ fault, Curly.”

“What? That I picked your mother over you?” Harry tilts his head back to look into Louis’ eyes, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Is that what this about, then? You’re upset you’re no longer my favorite Tomlinson-slash-Darling-slash-Deakin?”

“That is an awfully unnecessary mouthful, Harry, and stop lying to yourself. You’re not cuddling with my _mother_ right now, are you?

“No, but Jay and I _bonded_ , Louis. We _have a_ _connection_.” Harry says the words slowly, like somehow it’ll make them more meaningful that way. And maybe rile Louis up a little more as well. “Don’t be jealous of it, love, it was bound to happen. Fate brought your mother and I—”

Louis slaps a hand over his mouth to shut him up. It’s not even been 24 hours and Harry’s already starting to sound like a Tomlinson; a menacing, sly, little bastard. He’s obviously much too quick witted for his own good, Louis now realizes, but he finds that attractive, oddly enough. It’s good to have someone sharp, to always keep you on your toes. Harry’s good like that.

“You’re the absolute worst,” Louis says definitively. “I’ve made a terrible mistake letting you around my mother.” Harry mumbles something against his hands that Louis can’t understand. He assumes it’s some more gibberish about Jay being his soul sister, how they were probably best friends in a previous life. “And _no_ , I’m not jealous of your cliquish _relationship_ with her.”

Harry rolls his big green eyes, sort of exactly like the way he taught Ernest to this morning, and mumbles against Louis’ hand, “Mmf fmm mfngg mmhmd fmm hfmmhmmd fdd.”

“What’s that you said, Harold? You want me to tickle you?”

Harry’s eyes widen. He shakes his head no violently, grabbing Louis’ wrist and trying to pull it away from his mouth so he can speak properly, but Louis doesn’t let him.

“Yes,” he nods seriously. “It seems as though you’re asking for just that. Well, then. If you insist, Styles. Your wish is my command.”

He sighs as though it’s a very tiring task that Harry’s requesting of him, but it doesn’t stop him from immediately tackling Harry’s underarms with his free hand. Harry makes more muffled noises against his palm, quickly going red in the face as Louis wriggles his fingers relentlessly. Louis gets his sides and his belly and eventually lets go of his grip over Harry’s mouth so he can use both of his hands to torture the squirming boy underneath him.

He ends up straddling Harry’s waists as his laughter booms loud across the property. It’s giggly and bright, begging Louis to stop, but it sounds so beautiful in the quiet of upstate New York that Louis doesn’t want to. He’s menacing, sure, but he’s also indulging himself in Harry’s pink cheeks and toothy smile and watery eyes, how he calls Louis’ name over and over again and tries to slap his hands away, both of them in vain.

He stops only when he’s out of breath himself and his mother yells from the back porch to _“stop it right this minute, Louis William Tomlinson!”_ So he stops, but only because his mother says so, and because he’s nice like that. (Also because she holds a broom in her hand, like smacking Louis is not something she’s opposed to.)

“Was that what you were asking for?” Louis asks later, when his mother’s gone back inside and Harry’s caught his breath. He’s still sitting on Harry and he makes to move, but Harry just rests his palms on Louis’ thighs, a silent permission to stay right where he is.

“ _No_ ,” Harry giggles. His eyes are still glassy and bright, pink lips stretched in a happy smile. “I _said_ , ‘all we talk about is you,’ you turd.”

“Really?” It makes sense, to be fair. Louis _is_ the bond that connects him. If their relationship were a Venn diagram, Louis would be the little bit in the middle. Louis is Very Important and Vital to all the Venn diagrams. “You and my mother started your own little fanclub dedicated to me?”

Harry pinches his thigh. “Well don’t be so humble, Lewis. We just talked about you, we didn’t write your name in for president.”

“What did you talk about? How great a president I would be?”

“Just basic things,” Harry shrugs. “She told me about raising you guys in Staten Island before Dan came along and how you still live in that house when you’re not in service.” Louis’ upbeat cheer falters for a second, and Harry notices immediately. “Nothing bad, I promise,” he quickly assures him, running his hands soothingly over Louis’ bare thighs. He slides them under Louis’ shorts and caresses the smooth skin lightly. “Just about your childhood, and stuff.”

It’s not like Louis had a bad childhood, because he definitely did not, but it wasn’t necessarily easy, either, being the eldest of five children on a single mother’s nurse’s paycheck in Staten Island. Not to mention that his mother commuted to the city for work every day, so Louis was more or less responsible for taking care of his younger sisters for as long as he can remember. It was hard, but it wasn’t bad. It brought them closer, at least, and Louis now knows more about responsibility and time management and taking care of a family than he ever could have if his childhood were any different. He thinks having to grow up so fast also made his transition into the Navy more smoother, so there’s that as well.

“We’re not that far away, you know,” Harry says softly when he notices the distant look in Louis’ eyes.

Louis tilts his head to the side, confused. “How do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t know. Staten Island’s not exactly _far_ from Manhattan, is it? It’s barely a ferry ride and a short drive from Zayn’s place to Staten Island.” Harry sounds a bit nervous, like he’s trying to figure out as he speaks what Louis’ getting out of this, if he’s making any sense himself.

“A ferry ride and a short drive,” Louis repeats pensively.

Harry nods, cheeks pink and teeth biting into his lower lip. Louis frees it from Harry’s sharp canines and runs his thumb across it, reveling in the soft, slightly damp feel of his pillowy lips.

“It could work,” he says, and Harry lets out a relieved exhale.

And it _could_ work. A ferry ride and a short drive… It’s not impossible, not even close.

∞

“Okay, so, here’s the game plan—”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, rolling his eyes. “We don’t _need_ a game plan. It’s just Pictionary, babe.”

Harry looks up at him like he’s just said that the earth is flat and the sky is green. They’re huddled in a circle with Daisy, Phoebe, and Doris, heads close together and bellies full after a very well done barbecue feasting. They’re supposed to be playing Pictionary against the rest of the family, but Harry looks serious and ready for business, not like he’s in a team with little kids and about to draw stick figures for an hour.

“It’s not _just_ Pictionary,” Harry grits, “ and that attitude’s not gonna get us anywhere, Lewis.”

There’s a chorus of _yeah!_ by the girls and then Harry is going into his game plan and talking strategies and discussing the best drawing techniques to clinch the win. It’s _Pictionary_ , for God’s sake, but in their little circle Harry stands across from him and a longing coils in Louis’ belly.

Harry’s competitive as hell. Louis finds it unbearably hot.

He doesn’t even know how he makes it through the next hour, because he obviously can’t focus enough to contribute to the team. Harry furrows his brows a lot and watches him sternly, and it makes things even worse. Louis can feel himself getting hard, slowly and painfully, cheeks flushing up with just Harry’s narrowed glances and firm commands.

It’s _Pictionary_ , of all things, but it brings out the disciplined, forceful sailor in Harry, and it gets them the win, so Louis can’t complain. Not when Harry breaks out of his weird little zone and not when he cheers and giggles and victory dances with the girls, certainly not when he puts a hand to the small of Louis’ back and excuses them for the night. They say their goodnights and Fizzy gives Louis a sly wink on their way out, but Louis ignores it. He focuses instead on the warm feel of Harry against him because he knows this is just the beginning.

“Hey,” Harry whispers into his ear when they’re inside the cabin, alone in the dark and the moonlight glowing in from the windows. “Ask me what I’m thinking about.”

Louis turns around so that they’re facing each other. He doesn’t touch, not yet, but he desperately wants to. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“I’m thinking about…” Harry trails off, bringing his hand up against Louis’ chest to push him. Slowly, Louis starts walking backwards to the bed. “I’m thinking about…” The back of Louis’ knees hit the bed. Harry drops his hand and brushes it over Louis’ bulging crotch. “I’m thinking about how badly I wanna fuck you, Louis.”

It’s Harry’s voice and Harry’s touch and _Harry_ so close to him, right in front of him, that has Louis’ closing his eyes and letting out a soft moan. “Please,” he whispers. “Want to so bad.”

“How do you want me?” Harry squeezes Louis’ hard cock and repeats, “How do you want me, Lou? Wanna make you feel so good tonight.”

Louis’ scrambles to get his thoughts together. He feels hot and drugged up and dizzy in this haze that Harry’s got him in. He wants to be inside Harry and he wants Harry inside him. He wants Harry to fuck his throat and he wants to ride Harry until it hurts to sit. He wants to eat Harry out and he wants to feel Harry’s long fingers inside him. Louis wants everything from Harry, everything and anything that he’s willing to offer, but right now he just wants to _be_ with him, closing the distance between their bodies and feeling his skin on every inch of his own.

Louis opens his eyes and cups Harry’s face in his hands. “Just wanna be able to see your face, baby.”

Harry nods, exhaling a shaky little breath, and then they’re kissing in the dark with lingering touches and soft moans. It’s not fast and it’s not sloppy; it’s sound and it’s _good_ , so fucking good. They’ve kissed a lot over the last week, but Louis thinks _this is it_ , this is the kiss. This is _the_ perfect kiss. He can feel it in every part of his body, where Harry squeezes at his hips, where their knees brush together, where their tongues take in the taste of each other for memory. It’s not lust, nor is it happy giggles, it’s _I care about you_ and _I want so much with you_ and _you’re worth keeping, you make me happy, you are the most beautiful_.

When they pull apart, it’s only to take their clothes off and catch their breaths. Harry strips down slowly, never once taking his eyes off Louis’, and Louis does the same. Bare and naked, their hands wander across heated skin and jutting hipbones, squeezing at hardened nipples and shaping their fingers over the swell of ribs. Louis can’t get himself to look away from Harry’s perfect, beautiful face, but he lets his hands roam, making up for the haste of the morning. He touches for long moments, and Harry lets him; does exactly the same.

They take another step closer, between each other’s knees, and settle softly on to the bed, Harry on his back and Louis comfortably in between his knees. “Can we go slow?” Harry asks delicately. His voice is even quieter when he explains, “S’been a while.”

And Louis gets it, immediately. They come to him in waves, the conversations on the balcony and by the fire; all those times that Harry kissed him slowly, carefully; Zayn’s cautionary _take care of him_. Harry isn’t unexperienced, not if the way he sucks cock is anything to go by, but he hasn’t dipped his feet as thoroughly into the water as Louis has. It doesn’t help, either, that he’s been at service all these months with no real release or moment alone, besides occasional stops in foreign lands.

Of course Harry needs it slow. Louis wants to give him just that.

Louis leans onto his forearms and kisses Harry’ temple. “I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers in a promise. “We can go slow, darling.”

Harry kisses his Adam’s apple. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, and points Louis toward the direction of their duffel bag where Harry’s got a brand new bottle of lube and a pack of condoms.

“Came prepared, huh?” Louis grins as he settles back on the bed.

Harry blushes, fidgeting with the cap of the lube. “Um,” he clears his throat timidly, “just got them today, actually, when, I. Um. Went out with your mom and Lottie. They’re, uh,” he stutters again, a soft little giggle on his lips, “they take safe sex very seriously, apparently. So.”

It should be mortifying, mostly, but Louis finds himself endeared instead. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he laughs, petting softly through Harry’s curls. “ _God_ , that’s embarrassing. Everyone knows what we’re doing right now, Hazza.”

“Doesn’t that make it hotter, then?” Harry asks. He bites into his lower lip again, pupils already blown. “Fucking me in your childhood home, just a few feet away from your family. S’just me and you, but everybody knows what we’re up to. It’s kinky,” he shrugs, “makes me feel naughty for being so innocent to your mother all day.”

Louis digs his teeth into the column of Harry’s pale neck and hums, “You are the furthest thing from innocent, Harry. You’re absolutely filthy, and I love it.” He sucks hard, making Harry wince underneath him. “Love how good you are with my family, so sweet and nice, baby.” Their cocks press together, stuck between their flushed chests, and they rut slowly in long drags, and it spurs Louis on. “But you’re something else, aren’t you, Harry?” he pants against Harry’s skin, flicking his tongue to taste him more and more and more. “That mouth of yours – _God_ , that mouth of yours. Do you know I’ve been thinking about it all day? How well you took my cock this morning, how fucking desperate you were to get ruined. Is that what you want, Harry? You want me to wreck you, slow and hard, until you’re filthy and ruined?”

Harry gasps, digging his nails into Louis’ hips and leaking against their stomachs. “ _Yes_ ,” he begs in a broken voice, “want that so much – Lou. Want you inside me, _please_.”

Usually, Louis’ always prefers to watch his partners open themselves up; let them take care of that bit on their own. He enjoys getting his fingers wet and fucking the other person open, don’t get him wrong, but it riles him up breathlessly getting to watch his partner touch their body as if they’re alone in bed in the middle of the night and desperate for more. He likes letting the other person feel themselves, eyes closed and back arched, working a little harder than if they _were_ alone, because they know Louis’ watching, praising, waiting.

It’s unbelievably hot for Louis, but he doesn’t want that with Harry. He wants to feel Harry from the get-go, wants to be the one to stretch him out and get him wet, wants to feel the gradual change all around his fingers and then with his cock. He wants every bit of Harry, and he’s going to take care of every bit he gets.

So he settles on his haunches and Harry coats his fingers for him. He goes slowly, just as he promised, and runs his fingers between Harry’s cheeks and thumbs at his rim, letting him get used to the feeling before he slides one finger in. It’s not much, nor unbearable, but Harry squeezes around him with all his force and he’s so fucking tight that Louis worries there’s no way he’s going to be able to fit another two or three fingers in, much less his entire cock.

“Come here,” Harry beckons in a gasp just as Louis begins moving his finger, in and out and curling and twisting. Louis leans down and Harry kisses him, wraps his arms tightly around Louis’ shoulders. “Wanna be close to you,” he whispers into Louis’ ear. It feels so heavy and intimate, even more when he adds, “Give me more, I can take it, Lou.”

With their bodies flushed together it’s a harder angle for Louis, but he pushes another finger in slowly. Harry stills for a moment as Louis’ pushes inside, past his knuckle, and then he clenches, hard and desperate. It doesn’t feel good yet, Louis knows, but he can’t rush Harry through it; that would hurt even more.

“Slow, baby,” he hums into Harry’s ear in a reminder, pressing a kiss beneath it. “Breath. I’ll take care of you.”

Harry closes his eyes and nods his head, twisting his hips just slightly for Louis to go on. Louis doesn’t have to see him properly to know how red his face is; body hot and flushed all over as Louis starts to spread his fingers apart and stretch him. He goes slower than he’s ever gone with someone – because Harry needs him to, because he wants to – and it doesn’t bother him the slightest. Harry holds him close the entire time and pants in his ear, lets him know when he’s _there_ and when it’s good; when he’s ready and when the burn has turned overwhelmingly blissful.

“One more?” Louis asks, hovering over Harry’s body just the slightest bit. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but Harry is still unbelievably tight around his fingers. Louis doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready.

Harry shakes his head fervently, “No, no, m’good.”

“You’re not, baby—”

“ _Louis_.”

Louis pushes back down against Harry’s chest. “One more,” he whispers against Harry’s hot skin, “don’t wanna hurt you, H. Come on.”

Harry grumbles, but bears his hips down onto Louis’ curled fingers anyways and lets him add in another. 

Louis gets his ring finger wet and tries to make his fingers as small as possible as he pushes them back in. The extra stretch has Harry wincing, one fist in Louis’ hair and the other just as tight around the sheets.

“Move, please,” Harry begs, voice choked off. “ _Please_ , Lou, need—”

The next few minutes of Louis’ life feel like the longest he’s ever experienced; slowly stretching Harry out with three fingers and brushing against his prostate, moaning into his mouth and letting him leave marks all over his neck. Harry is so beautiful and soft and wet around his fingers, pink and tight and shamelessly smooth. His body is beautiful and his soft breaths are beautiful and when he kisses Louis, it leaves him chanting _beautiful beautiful beautiful_ in his head like a mantra.

Harry slicks up Louis’ cock and Louis lines himself up and it’s all so slow. The seconds pass by like lifetimes, leaving Louis with a perfect memory of every push and every pant. Harry’s hold around his biceps feels permanent, his long legs wrapped tight around Louis’ waist feel like godsend, and when Louis bottoms out, closer to Harry than he’s ever been, it feels infinite.

Louis can’t tell where his body ends and where Harry’s begins, but they carefully build their pace until they’re clinging and gasping, holding onto the other desperately because it’s terrifying to feel this good and this close to someone so fast. Louis’ name never leaves Harry’s mouth and when he asks for more, harder, Louis gives it to him because Harry’s hoarse voice goes straight to his bones and Louis can’t imagine ever saying no to him.

Louis slams into him, hips snapping and the sound of skin on skin echoing in the empty room. Harry pulls him in deeper, clenches around him tighter, and yells his name a little louder. It hurts, but Louis hits his prostate every time he pounds into him so it has Harry gasping every time Louis snaps his hips, overcome with the sensation. It steals the breath out of him and he comes with a vice-like grip around Louis’ cock and teeth breaking into his skin until all he tastes is blood and sweat and the most overwhelming orgasm of his life all over his tongue.

Louis watches him come undone, _beautiful so good baby look at you darling beautiful beautiful beautiful_ slipping from his lips on their own accord. Harry looks divine as he comes, his cheeks red and moans high, eyes squeezed shut and grip around Louis’ pleading. He holds onto Louis so tightly – around his cock and legs around his waist and arms around his neck – that it only takes a few more thrusts before Louis comes as well, body going taut with his orgasm before he sags into Harry’s warm arms once again.

∞

“It’s too cold!” Harry yelps by the rocks. “I can’t do it! I’m not getting in!”

“Get in the water, Harry.”

“No!”

“Harry Edward Styles, you will get into this lake right this instant or I will drag you in here, so help me God.”

Harry crosses his arms and even in the pale moonlight Louis can see the soft pout on his lips, his green eyes wide and pleading. He’s stark naked and it’s probably not a good idea, that, but Louis’ already jumped into the water so he’s not complaining about the view or anything. He’s used to swimming in relatively chilly water and so should Harry; he’s in the fucking _Navy_ after all.

“Lower your voice,” Harry huffs. “I could do without your mom finding me out here ass naked, Louis.”

“Then come in the water!”

Harry lets out a frustrated, hopeless whine because he knows that this is a battle he’s not going to win. He dips his toe into the water yet again and immediately yelps, confirming his problem. 

“Oh, for God’s sake, Harold.”

Harry looks up, finds Louis’ eyes, and quickly goes pale, the terror written clear on his face. “Louis. Louis, _don’t_ —”

But Louis’ already swimming to the edge of the water and making a run for Harry, wrapping him up in his arms and dragging him into the lake, not caring that Harry is now properly screaming and his laughter is echoing all around the property for everybody to hear.

“Louis!” Harry gets out one last time before Louis submerges them both entirely, limbs tangled together and grips held desperately tight.

When they come up for air Harry is shivering and gasping and wet. “That wasn’t very nice!” he shouts. “I’m freezing!”

“Then come closer,” Louis suggests. He tightens his arms around Harry’s waist and presses their chests flushed together. Louis can feel Harry hardened nipples against his skin and the breathy exhale he lets out, the shiver that runs through his body and his shaky fingers against his shoulders. “Better?” he asks coyly, already knowing the answer. “It’s not so bad now, is it?”

Harry lets out a defeated sigh, one that Louis knows he doesn’t want to, and wraps his arms tight around Louis’ neck. He buries his face and shrugs, “Always better with you.”

Louis doesn’t say anything back, just holds the boy tight in his arms and kisses his temple. They stay like that for a while longer, bodies tangled together and floating in the dark water, pressed closed and hearts beating against one another. They let go and swim to the dock when Harry mumbles about pruney skin and not being able to feel his toes. As soon as they climb up, Harry quickly prances off to the cabin to grab them some towels and a blanket.

And he comes back with a little something else, as well.

“Doris gave them to me,” he explains when they’re mostly dry and huddled close together. “She said they were left over from her last birthday, but, like, she just thought I’d like them so she gave ‘em to me.” He shows Louis the pile of temporary tattoos in his hands, grinning sheepishly all the while. “They’re cute, aren’t they?”

Louis fingers through the small pile and chuckles. “They’re all nautical theme, Haz,” he points out.

“ _Duuuh_ ,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “What _else_ would she have at a _nautical themed birthday party_ , Louis. _Think_.”

He taps a finger to Louis’ temple and Louis slaps his hand away playfully. “You want me to ink you up then?” he laughs. “Is that this is all about?”

“Yes, please. But only if I get to do you as well.”

“Alright,” Louis shrugs. “Why not.”

They push the blanket off their shoulders and move around on their towels until they’re facing each other, legs crossed and still completely naked. Louis’ eyes drift across Harry’s pink cock resting against his hip and his mouth waters for a second there before he feels a hard slap on his wrist and then a handful of cold water being poured over the sting.

“Hey!” Louis squeals in shock, but Harry just rolls his eyes.

“It was a rope, by the way. Your turn now.”

Louis peels the back of the tattoo off and can’t help but laugh when he takes note of the rope curved around his wrist in a loop, shiny and damp in the moonlight. He searches through the pile between them carefully because he wants to match with Harry, as silly as it makes him feel. He decides on the anchor after much consideration and places it on the back of Harry’s wrist as well. He stretches over to grab a small handful of water and pours it over Harry’s wrist in his hands. When it’s soaked, he peels the back off and reveals his choice to an extremely delighted Harry.

“Hey,” he grins happily, “we match now!”

He brings his wrist beside Louis’ and yeah, they do match, Louis thinks to himself. They fit together perfectly, the two of them.

Harry puts a compass on the inside of Louis arm, so Louis puts a large, rusty ship, on Harry’s bicep.

Harry gives him an arrow, so Louis gives him his heart.

From there they dissolve into giggles, splashing cold water over one another in entire handfuls and losing all sense of their little trade-off until they’re covered in birds and flowers and globes, nonsensical little things that they want to see on the other.

Breathless, they collapse and kiss until their lips are bruised and the moonlight shines on the littered droplets of water across their bare skin, flushed pink and pressed close together. It’s chaotic and loud until it’s not, until it’s quiet and soft, until they’re tucked under the covers of their bed, still holding on even in their sleep.

∞

The next day is quiet. It’s not raining, but the skies are gray and the air is thick. The wind blows hard against the trees and Harry cries when he says his goodbyes. He tries to hide it, but Louis sees him wiping away at his eyes when he hugs Jay and Doris.

It’s a lot to take in. Louis is used to goodbyes and while they never really get easier, he at least knows that’s there’s always a tomorrow in store for him; that he’ll always come back home. Maybe that’s what’s shaken Harry up, he thinks. For Louis there’s always a next time with his family, but Harry doesn’t have that. There’s no guarantee that he’ll ever see the Tomlinsons and the Deakins and the house by the lake that Louis calls home.

They take a train back into the city and Harry doesn’t say a word. He tucks himself under Louis’ arm and nuzzles close, letting out shaky breaths every so often and keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He holds one of Louis’ hands tight in his own on his lap and plays his roadtrip playlist from the other day, offering one of his headphones to Louis. Louis falls asleep with Harry in his arms and Bob Dylan in his ear driving back into the city and towards another goodbye.

 _I wanna be your lover, baby, I wanna be your man_.

∞

Louis walks Harry to his door at Zayn’s apartment, the two of them groggy and dragging their bodies through the halls. Zayn is out to a late brunch with his girlfriend so Harry invites Louis in, a hesitant blush on his cheeks when he asks, one that Louis hasn’t seen in days.

“Just for tea, or something,” Harry explains. “I need to get my stuff out of your bag, anyways.”

There are bags under his forest green eyes and Louis can still see the anchor on his wrist peeking out from his sleeve. He can’t say no to Harry, though he knows he should. He’s supposed to be back in his hotel with Niall right now, packing up and getting ready for tomorrow’s Memorial Day service at the pier. He’s not supposed to spend time he doesn’t have drinking tea with Harry and ignoring the elephant in the room.

Louis says yes anyways and follows Harry into the apartment. Harry drops their bag on the loveseat and pads into the kitchen. Louis settles on the couch and waits for him, eyes scanning the room.

It’s only been a few days since he was last in here, but it feels like so much more. There are signs of his time with Harry all over; one of his headbands thrown on the coffee table, a raspberry stain on the carpet that they couldn’t wash out, the sweater Harry had lent him folded neatly on the futon. Louis looks around the room and all he sees is _Harry Louis Harry Louis HarryLouisHarryLouisHarryLouis,_ and he forgets how to breathe because everything’s happened so goddamn fast.

Harry finds him just like that, bent over his knees with his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey,” he calls softly. He puts the mugs of tea down and settles beside Louis, bringing his arms around him to pull him up and hold him against his chest. “What’s wrong, Lou? What’s happened?”

Louis grabs a fistful of Harry’s shirt and holds on tight. It feels like everything’s falling apart, like he can’t keep time still for just one moment. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, he doesn’t want to go back to his hotel, and he doesn’t want tomorrow, doesn’t want anything unless he’s got Harry with him.

And when did that happen? When did Harry go from the cute sailor at the bar to the one person Louis can’t get himself to say goodbye to? When did he become so important?

He feels Harry calling his name into his hair, humming it softly. It sounds so beautiful the way he says _Louis_ , soft and delicate, rolling off of his tongue with a hug to every consonant and kiss to every vowel.

“Can you at least give me a sign that you’re still alive?” Harry jokes when Louis’ been quiet for a while longer than strictly normal.

Able to breathe again, Louis sits up and falls against the couch, moving Harry with him. They lean against the back of the furniture and let out heavy sighs, Harry because he’s waiting for Louis to explain and Louis because he’s praying this moment never ends.

Louis looks up at the ceiling and lets out a frustrated groan. “Who the fuck told you it was okay to be so perfect, Harold?”

Stunned to silence, Harry doesn’t say anything for a while. Eventually he lets out a meek, “I’m…sorry?”

Louis snaps his eyes to the boy beside him, long limbs and confused eyes, and positively glares. “You heard me,” he says, pulling back. “Who do you think you are just waltzing into my life with your ridiculous curls and your stupid dimples?”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Harry frowns, shoulders sagging and sorrowful pout on his lips.

Louis rolls his eyes and huffs dramatically. “Yeah, alright. It was me who bumped into you at the bar and took you back to my friend’s apartment and humped you in your sleep. Fucking _fireworks_ , honestly.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing—” Louis says quickly, cheeks going red when he remembers that Harry doesn’t have any memory of that last part. “Nothing, okay, but you’re not a very nice person, Harry Styles. Coming into my life and letting me become attached and then just _leaving_ me, like—”

He’s cut short when Harry pushes him onto his back and smashes their lips together, kissing the rest of his thoughts away. It hurts, almost, how much force Harry puts behind it, but Louis pulls him closer by the back of his neck and kisses him in return hungrily. It’s _so good_ he wants to cry because he can feel Harry all over him, on top of him, and it’s not enough. Harry licks his mouth open and it’s not enough. Harry bites down on his lips and it’s not enough. Harry hums his name into his mouth and it’ll never be enough.

“Who,” Harry manages to say between furious kisses, “said – anything – about – leaving – you—”

Louis frowns and pulls the fistful of hair in his control. Harry moans dirtily and presses harder against Louis’ smaller body, kissing him and kissing him until he’s sure the taste will never leave his mouth.

“I got you something,” he says a while later when he pulls away.

“Unless it’s more kisses, Harry, I genuinely do not really care.”

“I’m going to _make_ you care,” Harry says with determination.

With that, he jumps off the couch and leaves Louis panting, lips bruised and head spinning. Reluctantly, he sits back up and watches Harry riffle through their duffle bag as he runs his fingers across his aching lips, replaying Harry’s kisses by memory. He’s entirely confused, but he likes surprises and he _loves_ gifts, so he lets Harry be weird like that.

Except. He comes back with something in his hand that makes zero sense to Louis. “What’s that?” he asks, brows furrowed deeply.

Harry coughs into his fist before speaking up. “Um. A phone. For you, obviously—”

“Why did you get me a phone?” Louis doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but he can hear it come out that way, if Harry’s wide eyes are anything to go by. He quickly puts a hand on Harry’s wrist, wraps it around the anchor. “It’s just – you didn’t have to. You shouldn’t have, it’s really. I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Your mom and I wanted to,” Harry explains quickly.

And that shuts Louis up instantly.

“Look, Louis.” Harry lets out a long sigh and holds the phone up. “This is the 21st century. You are not some lonesome pirate in the 1700s who can go AWOL every time you’re at service. It’s ridiculous that your mother has to get updates on you from _Niall_.” He forces the phone into Louis’ hand and continues. “Lottie and I paid for it and you’re on your mother’s contract. _Don’t_ say you don’t need it, because you do, alright? Are you listening to me?”

Louis lets go of Harry’s wrist to hold the phone in his hands, white and shiny and new. He presses the home button and of course the wallpaper is a photo of Harry and his mother, hugging stupidly in some sort of costume shop. So that’s what they were up to. Everything makes a little more sense now, but Louis still feels a bit shell-shocked.

It’s easily the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him. Harry must have spent hundreds of dollars on this phone and he’s only known Louis a week – not even a week, just six days right now. And it’s just a phone, yes, it’s also Harry showing that he understands, that he wants happiness and comfort not just for Louis but for his family as well. And Louis didn’t even ask for it, is the thing. He hadn’t hinted at it or even known himself that it’s what he wanted what he needed, but Harry figured it out. Louis doesn’t know how.

He’s so overwhelmed by Harry that his hands start to shake. He feels like he’s going to explode just from _appreciating_ Harry as a whole and the only way to stop it is to hold Harry in his hands and pepper his face with kisses, small _thank you_ ’s laced with brush of his lips.

“I meant it earlier, you know, when I said that you were perfect,” Louis hums behind Harry’s ear, presses a kiss there as well. “You’re the best person I know, Harry. I don’t deserve you.”

Harry shakes his head and pulls away to look Louis in the eyes. His eyes are green, and glowing, but his lips are turned downward. “Don’t say that,” he frowns.

It’s not an argument that Louis really cares to have, mostly because he knows that he’s right. Harry is lovely and beautiful and the best person to ever exist. He’s not just out of Louis’ league; he’s out of everybody’s league. Louis has no clue how he got so lucky, and that thought’s been running through his head all week, so he’s a little disappointed that he still hasn’t figured it out yet.

“Still true though,” Louis shrugs, running his thumb across Harry’s blushing cheek. “ _Definitely_ the best person I know. Sweetest, too.”

“You’re just saying that,” Harry counters. His skin is hot with embarrassment and Louis think it’s cute as hell, even makes him giggle a bit. He leans over and leaves a lingering kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“You know, Lottie and your mom aren’t the only people you should keep updated and stuff. Like.”

Louis pulls away and looks at the stuttering mess of boy beside him, this nervous, overgrown sailor with the wide, green eyes and the ruffled curls and the pink, bitten lips. He finds himself grinning, heart expanding with every breath. “Really?” he asks. He can hear how breathless he sounds, voice high with giddiness. “Whom else have I got to keep updated, then?”

Harry shrugs his shoulders and looks down at the holes in his jeans. He draws a circle against the rough skin of his knee before mumbling, “Me, maybe. If you’d like to, I mean. You don’t have to, obviously, but I’d quite like to keep you around, if you’d have me.”

This time it’s Louis’ turn to push Harry onto his back and tackle him with kisses, heavy and forceful and thankful all at once, brimming over the edge with bliss and complete adoration.

“Of course I wanna keep you around,” he gasps against Harry’s mouth, smiling so hard that it physically hurts. “No goodbyes, then?”

“Just me and you,” Harry answers with finality. “No goodbyes.”

∞

Louis is in the middle of a game of chess with Niall when he gets a text from Harry.

_Come watch the sunset with me xx._

He leaves Niall without so much as an explanation, but Niall’s used to that by now. He just rolls his eyes and tries to trip him on his way out and the two of them both laugh because they know Louis’ whipped like hell, but they’ve been expecting that.

Louis makes it up to the deck of the USS Happily just a few minutes later, heading all the way to the edge where he normally stands. He takes in the crystal blue of the water and the melting gold of the sunset. He takes in the purples the pinks and the oranges, flicks his eyes down to the dolphins not far away from their ship.

When he turns to his left, he can see Harry’s figure leaning against the rails of the USS Strong. Louis can see him take out his phone and type something in. His phone buzzes in his pocket just seconds later.

_Worthy of Instagram though, isn’t it? xx._

And although Harry probably can’t hear him over the sound of the ships’ propellers, Louis throws his head back and lets out a loud laugh for the entire ocean to witness. They’re off the coast of Brazil, somewhere, and Louis’ so goddamn glad that fate decided to keep them and their ships together that he doesn’t care how loud he is anymore. He takes out his phone, faces Harry’s direction, and snaps a photo of his boy against the sunset. He doesn’t filter it ridiculously and he definitely doesn’t post it on Instagram with a cryptic line from Bukowski, but he keeps it in his photo roll, untouched and perfect just the way it is. He tucks his phone back into his pocket and turns to the sunset, happily.

Fate has a funny way of working out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ugh, let's just pretend like this doesn't suck as much as it really does, alright?
> 
> [tumblr](http://tornorrows.tumblr.com)


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